Fearless
by laloga
Summary: There is only one Force-sensitive clone in existence. When Captain Stonewall's secret comes out, he is sent to Kamino, while his Jedi general, Kalinda Halcyon, is put on probation by the Council. But Kali refuses to leave the man she loves a captive of the storm world. Along with the clones of Shadow Squad, Kali enacts a daring rescue. OC-heavy & AU.
1. Prologue

Hi there! Welcome to the new story. :) The usual gobbledegook (notes, disclaimer, etc.) will follow in Chapter One. For now, know that this prologue takes place shortly before my fic, _Untouchable_.

Lyrics: "So Aware," by John Brown's Body, from _Amplify._

* * *

**Prologue**

_I'm so aware of your body, _

_It's blinding my sight when you are near._

_So aware of your crying because of a life you can't begin._

_So aware the fighting for dreams we lost, that we left in-between;_

_So aware that I'm starving,_

_So open your heart and let me in._

The call came well after midnight.

While the rest of the ship slept, clone Captain Stonewall was alone at the helm. He didn't mind the solitude, in part because the fact that he normally shared his Jedi general's bed didn't excuse him from the routine duty, and in part because Kalinda had made it clear she wanted to be alone tonight. Stonewall minded _that_ a little bit, but would not begrudge his Jedi anything if he could help it.

Shadow Squad's vessel, a small freighter that had seen better days, hurtled through the blue veil of hyperspace when the comm began to chirrup. Stonewall glanced at the _[__PRIORITY__ URGENT]_ marker with trepidation before he activated the comm and watched the flickering blue form appear at the console. "General Kenobi?"

The bearded Jedi gave a slight bow. "Stonewall."

The use of his nickname rather than his rank or number clued Stonewall into the fact that this was no professional call, and anxiety squirmed in his gut. Of the few matters that could pull the Jedi Master and High General from his duties, Stonewall knew that one was ensconced in the officer's cabin at the ship's stern.

Stonewall took a breath and schooled himself to patience. His reply lacked formality, but was heavy with intent. "What's wrong?"

Kenobi hesitated. That alone sent off a myriad of warning bells in Stonewall's mind, and he hoped his instinct was wrong. Maybe Kenobi had only comm'd because of some urgent Jedi business that would require Kali's attention. He indicated the doorway behind him. "Should I get General Halcyon, sir? "

"No, Stonewall." Kenobi sighed and shook his head, then looked directly into the clone captain's eyes. "But what I have to say does concern her." He paused again, as if measuring his words. "Have you noticed anything...unusual about Kalinda's behavior lately?"

It was the captain's turn to hesitate. He did not want to speak ill of her, but... "General Halcyon has been a bit...on edge the last week or so."

He fought back a wince at the recent memories of Kali hurting in a way he didn't understand and could do nothing about, and wondered if he'd revealed too much. But General Kenobi was one of Kali's oldest and dearest friends, and if he had an insight about her behavior, Stonewall found he was a little desperate to hear it.

However, there was only so much of that desperation he could reveal. No one outside of this vessel knew about the bond the captain shared with Kalinda, and Stonewall was reluctant to reveal his and Kali's romantic attachment to a leading member of the Jedi Council, old friend of Kali's or not. So he didn't know what else to say.

Kenobi nodded slowly, a sorrowful look on his face. "I thought as much. She contacted me a few days ago with a message for the Council, and I remembered..." His eyes took on a far-away look that Stonewall often associated with Force-users, but it faded quickly as Kenobi faced the captain again. "I debated sharing what I'm about to, because it is _her_ business and not either of ours. However, I decided you would be able to better serve her if you had this knowledge."

Anxiety tore at Stonewall's gut again, but he worked to keep his expression neutral. "I would be grateful for any information that will help me assist General Halcyon."

"Good to hear. I'm glad she has you." Kenobi offered a kind but small smile, which faded almost at once. "Has Kali ever mentioned a Jedi by the name of Jonas Ki?"

Stonewall nodded. "He was her first master."

The Jedi studied him a long moment, his forehead creased as if with uncertainty, which led Stonewall to wonder if he'd made a mistake by revealing he knew this much about Kali. But surely there was no harm in this knowledge? Jedi were allowed to discuss their old masters, right? By Kali's account, Knight Ki had been a patient and kind master; what reason would Kenobi have to feel uncertain about relating this information?

"Today is the twentieth anniversary of his death," Kenobi said quietly. "It is always a difficult time for her, but I fear..." He sighed again. "I fear this one will hit her particularly hard. I fear it already has."

"I think you're right, sir," Stonewall replied with a sigh of his own. "She's...not been herself. I only wish I could do something to help her."

Kenobi nodded once. "I've tried, in the past. But some wounds – even old ones – will never heal completely. The best thing you can do is let her grieve in her own way, in her own time. She'll come out of it soon. She always does."

Stonewall nodded, but the words struck him as _wrong. _Not unkind or unfair, because by all accounts Jedi were not supposed to _grieve _at all, but it still felt wrong to let Kali suffer alone. Which was what Kenobi was suggesting, at least as far as he could tell.

But it would do little good to argue with the Jedi, for many reasons, so the captain ensured that his reply was professional. "Thank you for the information, General."

Kenobi signed off. Stonewall leaned forward, resting his elbows on the console and running his hands through his close-cropped hair as he debated his next move. She'd expressly told him she wanted to be alone, and he wanted to honor that request, but this new information...

Kali was grieving. It was clear to him now, and if she was simply his CO and nothing more, he would have left her to her grief. But there was _more _between them, so much more. As a soldier, he knew when to leave well enough alone and focus on the mission. But as a man, he could not stand idly by while the woman he loved wept herself to sleep alone in a dark room.

A glance at the instrument panel told him they were ahead of schedule, so he decided to forgo helm duty for the time being. He set the autopilot, then slipped out of the cockpit and made his way through the silent ship's corridors. He paused beside the cabin that held his men, where he knew an empty bunk waited for him, and listened for a moment to ensure all was well; exhales, sighs and a few intermittent snores revealed that it was.

The cabin he normally shared with Kali was tucked within the _Wayfarer's_ stern. It was small and often cluttered with her belongings, but had the luxury of a bed that was larger than anything Stonewall had ever slept upon in his admittedly short life. He pressed the lock-panel and slipped inside. Kali sat at the center of the bed, hunched over a datapad, her face illuminated by the screen.

Not until he crossed the threshold did she glance up. "What are you doing here?"

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Stonewall hesitated, her sharp tone making him uncertain of how his concern would be met. He saw her rub at her eyes and took in her slumped posture, like she was curling in on herself, and a little more of his resolve fell away. She'd been so adamant before about being alone...maybe Kenobi had been right.

"How are you?" he asked at last.

Through the darkness, he watched her sit up and straighten her shoulders. To an outsider, she would be the picture of a proper Jedi. Her words trembled, though, and betrayed her. "I'm fine."

"No," he stepped closer, "you're not."

Kali's voice cooled. "If I say I'm fine, then I'm fine. I told you I wanted to be alone. What do you want?"

Ignoring the pang he felt at her words, Stonewall sat at the bed's edge and twisted around to regard her. Bathed in the datapad's glow as she was, it was obvious she'd been crying. Red-rimmed eyes looked back at him steadily, but she sniffed once despite herself.

"General Kenobi just comm'd," he said.

The dark-haired woman glanced down at her datapad. "And?"

"He was worried about you."

Now she gave a small shake of her head, which caused her unbound hair to sway. "He does that a lot."

In her grip, the 'pad trembled. Stonewall eased a little closer, shifting so that he was fully seated on the bed, though he did not touch her. She did not tense, nor turn away from him this time, which he took as a good sign. "He told me why he was worried."

She glanced up at him, brows knitted. "He told you...?"

"Your first master," Stonewall said. "It's the twentieth anniversary of his death. Right?"

Kali stared at him a long, long moment, then shook her head. "No, Stonewall."

Well, this was unexpected. Stonewall frowned and tried to put his thoughts in order. He knew he'd not heard her wrong, and he doubted Kenobi had outright lied to him, but then what was the truth of the matter?

But before he could ask, Kali sighed, set the 'pad screen-side down in her lap, and looked at him again. "Jonas wasn't just my Master, Stonewall. He was," she swallowed and looked away, into the shadows of the cabin, "he was my dad."

"Your..." Stonewall gaped at her a moment before recovering his senses. Somewhat. "Kriffing hell."

To his shock, Kali let out a chuckle, though it was low and dark and filled with sorrow. "That about sums it up." She was silent a moment longer, then looked down at the 'pad. Her next words were blurred and shaking. "He died in my arms. I was sixteen. I can't believe it's been two decades; it feels like it only happened yesterday."

There was no room for hesitation now. Stonewall shifted closer and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. He only wore his off-duty fatigues, so thankfully he could offer her warm skin, soft fabric and a steadfast shoulder. She resisted him for a heartbeat before relaxing into his embrace as her body started to tremble.

He said nothing as she cried. What was there to say? He had no family to miss, not like this anyway. There were brothers, of course, but losing them – while painful – was commonplace among clones. They were soldiers in wartime, and brothers died all the time. The ones who were left grieved and moved on, while keeping their memories alive in their hearts. It was the way of his world.

But even though he could not directly relate, he understood there was a strong bond between _parents _and _children. _And he knew something of love, too. He knew it was love that held Kali captive in her grief; love lost and shaped into sorrow over the long span of years.

Perhaps, though, it was love that could offer some relief.

He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her arms and trembling back as she buried her face in his chest. "I'm sorry, Kali," he murmured in her ear. "I'm so sorry."

Kali wept. It felt like he held her for hours, though the reality was probably closer to a single hour. But all that mattered was that she quieted at last and looked up at him. Her eyes, nose, and cheeks were pink and blotted with tears, and her hair was mussed beyond all recognition.

"It still hurts," she whispered. "Why hasn't it stopped hurting yet?"

"I don't know." He smoothed back a strand of her hair that had stuck to her damp cheek. "I suppose some wounds never really heal; they just scab over."

Kali sniffed and leaned into him again, wrapping her arms around his torso and embracing him for all she was worth. Stonewall understood that she often thought him solid, even indestructible, and although he knew better, he thought that now she needed something to hold on to more than she needed to be strong on her own.

In all the times they'd been intimate, never had she seemed less of a Jedi than she did now. But never had she been more real.

"Kali?"

Her reply was small in the darkness. "Yes?"

"What was he like?"

She inhaled deeply and met his eyes. Her expression was distant again, but there was a softness to its edges that made Stonewall think she was remembering, and that it was not all in sorrow. "He was..." A slow, half-smile came to her face. "Kind," she said at last. "Compassionate. The perfect Jedi, by all accounts. Except he didn't care for meditating, and he had this one really, really big attachment."

Hoping to encourage her, Stonewall smiled back fully. "He sounds like a good man."

Kali shifted closer, curling her legs up and resting her head on his shoulder as she relaxed into his chest. "It's not very Jedi-like of me, but I miss him every day. There are times when I see something he'd think was interesting, or hear a song he'd love, and I want to tell him...then I remember." There was a frown in her voice. "I don't know if it should be that way. I don't think so."

"I guess you can't exactly ask the Council," Stonewall agreed.

He'd not been joking, but she startled him with a light chuckle. Second one so far; he decided to thank Kenobi later on, even though he'd not exactly followed orders.

Kali was quiet for a moment, then leaned up and pulled away from Stonewall. He lamented her absence briefly, but watched with interest as she tugged up the leg of her sleep pants, revealing an ugly, rounded scar on her left knee.

"I've told you how I got this, right?" she asked.

Stonewall ran his fingertips over the familiar knot of skin, wide and thick as his thumb. On her slender knee, it took up far too much room. "On a mission when..." He took a breath and looked at her with new eyes. "When you were sixteen. When your first master was killed."

Kali nodded. "It was bad. It still is, some days. I should have gotten a prosthetic knee."

The scar, or what it represented, was the reason Kalinda Halcyon was not on the front lines with other Jedi, leading clone battalions while cutting down rows of Seppie clankers. The old injury was a constant source of trouble. If her knee was exerted overmuch it would ache, enough so that she had to rest far more than other Jedi, enough so that Stonewall had spent many hours massaging the area in an attempt to ease what pain he could. She walked with a limp. It was faint, but visible, and it was certainly enough to advertise the fact that she was in less than one-hundred-percent physical condition.

But who gave a kriff about a bum knee, when the woman attached to it was so extraordinary?

He'd never pushed her to reveal the details of her injury. Among clones, those who'd been wounded enough to return to the field bore their scars proudly, for they were badges of survival. However, no clone who was hurt like Kali had been would have been sent back to fight. A wound that left such a deep, abiding scar and persistent limp would have equated to a one-way trip back to Kamino.

Now, though, he thought he had tacit permission to ask, so he held her dark eyes with his own. "Why didn't you get a prosthetic?"

Kali was silent, and he wondered if he'd pushed too far this time. Along with wry humor, compassion, and an easy-going nature, there was a darkness within Kalinda Halcyon. Despite her tendency to recoil from them, the shadows clung to her. He'd seen them in her eyes when she was angry, or frightened, or lost.

He saw them now.

Just as Stonewall was about to change the subject, Kali sighed and rubbed at the scar again. "It's stupid."

"Tell me anyway?"

A beat passed, then she picked up the datapad, activated the screen, and presented it to him without a further word. Stonewall accepted the 'pad and his heart constricted when he saw the image.

Two Jedi stood before a marbled fountain. The first was a man probably in his forties, slightly taller than a clone, slender, with vivid blue eyes and short hair so blonde it was nearly white. A familiar wry smile touched the edges of his lips. He stood proudly, with one arm around the shoulders of the other Jedi, a Padawan judging from the braid hanging next to her chin. Kali. Young...younger than Stonewall had ever seen in any of the old pics she'd shown him. Her face was rounder, more childlike, and her body was not as curved as it was now, but the dark eyes that looked back at the clone captain were purely _Kali. _Her smile was toothy and she stood straight and tall.

Each wore a lightsaber, but only one hilt was familiar. In the picture, it hung at Jonas Ki's belt, though Stonewall knew now it lay with Kali's belongings, on the floor of her side of the bed they shared.

"I didn't want a prosthetic knee because...even though my real knee was ruined, it was the only thing I had left of my father."

She met Stonewall's gaze, and he caught a glimpse of the girl she used to be behind the eyes of the woman she was, then her gaze dropped and her hands trembled over the scar. "I couldn't give it up because I couldn't let him go. This stupid, busted knee is all I have left of him."

It took Stonewall a moment to find his voice. "The lightsaber..."

"Is a weapon, a tool, a _possession_." Kali's voice sharpened again, but Stonewall got the sense she wasn't upset with him. "It could be lost or taken away from me. And honestly, I was never that great with it. But this," she slammed her palm on her knee, startling him, "this is mine. This is a part of me. Forever."

Kali swiped at her eyes and sighed again. "_Kriff_, that's idiotic. I'm a terrible Jedi."

"That's not true."

"Well, you don't know many of us," she said, sitting up a little and regarding him with some of her old wry humor.

Stonewall shook his head. "I know enough. But it doesn't matter, because you're not _just_ a Jedi, Kali. You're a woman. You're a _person_, an amazing one, and I..."

He bit off the next words, because they would be too much right now. This was not a time for something new; this was a time to attend to old wounds. So he touched her jaw, skimming his fingertips over her smooth skin before twining them in the dark tangle of her hair. "I count myself lucky to know you, and even luckier to be here now."

"You don't have the monopoly on luck," she said, lifting a brow at him even as she leaned into his touch.

Stonewall chuckled. "That's debatable."

"Insubordinate." Kali clucked her tongue and gave him a teasing look that made his heart lift. "I should court-martial you."

"Go for it, General," Stonewall replied lightly, arching his brow.

The corners of her mouth curled upward with amusement, but it was not a true smile. He figured she would still wrestle with her sorrow, but he didn't want to leave her alone, not now. Perhaps he could have woken up one of his men and had them fly the _Wayfarer _while he stayed here with her, but it was still technically his turn at the helm, and it didn't sit right with Stonewall to use his relationship with Kali – or his place as captain – to take such prerogatives.

He didn't vocalize any of this to the dark-haired Jedi, because she knew. Even without a word, she knew him, understood him in a way no one else ever had. He only hoped he could return the favor one day, even if only a little bit. There was so much he was helpless against, after all.

Rather than dwell on the darkness, he thumbed in the direction of the cockpit. "It's lonely up there. If you're not going to sleep any time soon, I could use some company."

Kali considered, then nodded. Some of the blotchiness had faded from her face, though it was still obvious she'd been crying. Her knee still rested between them, and Stonewall placed his hand over the scar. He met her eyes, silently wishing he could say something that would make everything right, but the words didn't come.

Then she gave him a true smile, and there was no better sight.

"Come on," she said, getting to her feet and offering him her hand. "We've got a long journey ahead of us."

Stonewall rose as well, and laced their fingers together. "Let's go."

* * *

A/N: Look for a new chapter every other Friday. Please "follow" me or the fic to receive future updates, and please leave a review if you are so inclined. :) Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

Lyrics: "Budapest," by George Ezra, on_ Did You Hear the Rain?_

* * *

**FEARLESS**

* * *

**Chapter One **

_My friends and family,_

_They don't understand._

_They fear they'd lose so much, _

_If you took my hand._

_But for you, I'd lose it all._

_Approximately one year later..._

Kalinda took a deep breath, gathering what calm she could. Force above and beyond, she was going to need it, especially since she still felt a little queasy. The doors to the Council chambers hissed open and allowed her entry. Her boots made no sound on the marbled floor; the only indication of her passage was the Kali-shaped shadow cast by the fading light of day and the movement of every Council members' eyes upon her as she approached. Mace Windu's gaze, in particular, was stern, and his mouth was set in a firm line. Not unusual for him, but it didn't bode well. Its severity signaled that something was not right.

But of course that was true. There was only one empty chair, where Obi-Wan was supposed to be, but Kali did not let her eyes linger upon it, because if she did, she'd lose what control she'd managed to shore up. Instead she stood at the center of the room and faced Master Windu, and took another deep breath. Calm.

"What is the nature of your relationship with the the clone known as CC-3077?" Mace asked without so much as a _how's it going?_

Heat flooded her face but she forced back the accompanying emotion. She'd had an idea this was coming since Alderaan. It would be unpleasant and probably extremely embarrassing, but she'd tried to prepare herself.

"You mean Captain Stonewall?" she asked.

The Korunn Jedi's face betrayed no emotion as he nodded once. Beside him, Master Yoda's flickering, holographic form regarded her just as calmly. "Formed a romantic relationship with the clone, we believe you have. Is it true, Knight Halcyon?"

"Yes," she said, lifting her chin.

Though nearly the entire Council was present, no one spoke or stirred. Only about a fourth of the Council members were physically on-planet; the rest appeared via holo. There was a war on, after all. Even so, the air suddenly felt thick and heavy, coating her lungs and tightening in her chest. _Calm_, she reminded herself._ Stay calm, and you will get through this. _

"You know such attachments are forbidden," Ki-Adi-Mundi said from his place to her right.

Kali glanced his way. "Attachments are forbidden, but I was unaware we were expected to be celibate."

It was a blow, albeit an inadvertent one, and she regretted her words at once. Master Mundi's species had a low birth rate, so he had been permitted to take several wives. The Cerean Master's pale, elongated brow furrowed at her reply, and Kali schooled herself to dial her emotion back even further.

Before he could reply, though, Luminara Unduli shifted in her chair, causing the others to look her way. "Your thoughts betray you...and the captain. Do not attempt to deceive us with semantics."

"You care for him," Master Plo Koon added. "You cannot conceal the truth from us, Knight Halcyon. We know that you have formed an attachment to CC-3077."

"You have always struggled with that weakness." Master Windu's voice rolled through her heart like thunder, and it began to beat faster.

Her throat was tight and her eyes pricked with heat. _Not now, _she pleaded with herself. _Keep it together, for both their sakes. _That thought chased the emotion away; there was more than herself and Stonewall, now. So much more.

She shook her head and met Mace's eyes. "Perhaps you're right. But it's my weakness, not his." She indicated the direction of the Coruscant Guard barracks, tucked into the cityscape and bathed in the glow of the almost-setting sun. "Captain Stonewall is innocent of any wrongdoing. He could not," her cheeks heated again but she pushed on, "refuse an order by his general."

Luminara lifted her chin, and if Kali didn't know any better, she would have sworn the Mirialan Jedi's eyes had hardened. "Are you telling us you _ordered_ CC-3077 to...be intimate with you?"

"I'm not _that_ desperate," Kali shot back before she could stop the words. She paused and took a moment to collect herself, and continued. "As Master Windu pointed out, I have a...predilection for attachments. Obi-Wan and I were very close, as many of you know. Last month, after he was killed by Rako Hardeen, I was...upset, and sought companionship. Stonewall is a young man, and was eager to please his general."

She made an indeterminate motion with her hand, to let them fill in the blanks. "The point is that it was _my _idea, and any attachment in this situation is purely my fault, and my problem. Captain Stonewall has done nothing wrong. In his mind, he has served the Republic faithfully."

There. Humiliating, to be sure, but she was past caring. All that mattered was saving Stone's _shebs. _Her own, she'd worry about later.

Mace Windu exhaled through his nose, long and slow, and leaned back in his seat, looking at her the way he used to when she was not an errant Knight, but his Padawan who had disappointed him in one way or another. It was not uncommon for him, but something struck her as _off, _now. She glanced around again at the nearly full Council chamber and realized this meeting was more than a simple dressing-down.

As a rule, it did not take an entire Council to reprimand a Jedi. The body only assembled to offer harsher disciplines.

Her throat tightened.

"A 'predilection,' you say, hmm?" Everyone looked over at the flickering form of Yoda, seated in his customary egg-shaped chair beside Mace. But he only watched Kali. "Semantics, again, Knight Halcyon. Warned, you were, about such things. Only truth should you bring before us."

Kali's hands tightened into fists at her sides, and it took every ounce of control she could muster to relax them. Heat stung her eyes again, anger and shame coursed through her. It was truth they wanted, yet they would have her live a lie. They would have her deny the things written in her heart and soul. Her head buzzed with restrained emotion but if she spoke her true mind, she would lose everything.

"I have many weaknesses," she managed at last. "But Stonewall–"

"Is one more," Mace broke in, lacing his fingertips together. "I see now that I made an error in judgment in allowing you to participate in the Wars. You are more suited to Temple life."

Yoda and Mace exchanged glances, some sort of silent communication passing between them. When Mace looked her way again, his gaze was durasteel. "Kalinda Halcyon, you are officially on probation. Three more causes for reprimand will result in your expulsion from the Jedi Order. You are to return to your former Temple duties, effective immediately."

"No."

Mace frowned. "Excuse me?"

Kali clenched her hands and didn't care that she was shaking. They could not do this. She would not _let _them do this. Her gut churned but her voice was steady. "With respect, Masters, I think Shadow Squad and I have made great strides in our efforts during in the Wars. Despite my 'weaknesses,' we've done a lot of good. This war has been going on for nearly three years, and there are less Jedi every day..."

She shouldn't have looked at Obi-Wan's empty chair. One shot. All the heroic things he'd done, all the messes and scrapes and last-ditch efforts, all the warmth, wry humor and fierce intelligence...a kriffing sniper had destroyed his bright spirit with _one_ shot, and some days it was more than she could bear. She shouldn't have looked. But she did. And traitor tears sprang to her eyes when she most needed to keep them away.

"Even now, your emotions betray you," Luminara said, echoing Kali's thoughts. "Master Windu is correct; you are not suited for the Wars. You can make yourself more useful here at the Temple."

This wasn't happening. Kali tried to breathe deeply and regain her calm, but it slipped through her hands like so many grains of sand. "What will happen to my men?"

She said this with a glance at Plo Koon; of all the Jedi Masters in the room, she had heard he was closest with his clones, the fierce fighters known as the Wolfpack. Perhaps he would understand...

But the Kel Dor Jedi said nothing.

Mace's voice pulled her gaze as if her head was tied to a string. "They will be disseminated back to their original teams. Shadow Squad was," his frown deepened, "a failed experiment, on my part." He leveled his gaze on her again. "In any case, Shadow Squad is no longer your concern, Knight Halcyon."

"I urge you to reconsider." Kali paused, then took a step toward her old Master, trying and failing to keep the pleading out of her voice. She had one final, desperate card to play, though she had a feeling they would not buy her bluff. "I will end my...affair with Stonewall if you let me keep working with them."

Mace shook his head. "Our decision is final."

"Please," she whispered. "Mace, please. Don't do this to them. They deserve better."

"You should have considered that earlier," he told her sharply. The change in pitch was minute, but amounted to a klaxon of warning to those present, and Kali felt the force of his ire like a slap. A beat passed; he took a breath and leaned back in his chair, all emotion faded from his face once more. "This discussion is over. You are dismissed."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Traxis threw down the cards and grinned across the table at his captain. "I win."

"Again?" Stonewall sighed and made a show of frowning at the sabacc cards spread before him. "Kriff. I'm getting cleaned out."

Shadow Squad's ordnance man, a bald clone named Crest, gave Traxis an exaggerated look of wariness. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were cheating."

"Nope," the scarred clone drawled as he collected his winnings – a pile of sweets that Shadow Squad had collected over the last few weeks. "I'm just that kriffing good."

The youngest member of the squad, Milo, began to gather the cards. "None of us are cheaters, Crest. That's just mean."

Crest sat on Traxis' left side, at the small table in the rec room at Coruscant barracks. At Milo's words he chuckled and glanced at his scarred brother. "Hmm. I don't know...turn out your pockets, Trax_, _and let me check."

Like all the members of his squad, Trax was dressed only the black body-suit normally worn beneath armor, and there were no pockets. So he shot the bald clone a mock glare and began to sweep the packets of honey sticks into his rucksack. "Eff off, Baldy."

Shadow's medic, Weave, sighed as he entered info into his datapad. He'd opted out of the last game, but had chosen to sit with his brothers anyway. "Trax, he's just teasing. Don't let him get to you."

"That goes for each of you," Stonewall added, looking between Crest and Traxis, both of whom feigned innocence. At their looks, the captain rolled his eyes, a habit he'd picked up from their Jedi general. "_Di'kutle_."

Despite the insult, there was affection in his voice. Only Stonewall could call Traxis an idiot and make it seem like an act of camaraderie. And in a way, it was.

"Ah, _vode, _right?" Crest chuckled, nudging the officer's side with his elbow. "Brothers can be so annoying, and _we're_ downright incorrigible."

"You're a fekking pain in my _shebs_," Traxis shot back reflexively, though his heart wasn't really in it. He was still full from lunch, and pleased that he'd won the sabacc round. A little R & R almost made up for the fact that they'd had to make an unscheduled trip to the Core this morning.

Milo shuffled the cards, but didn't deal them. "She's been in that meeting a long time," he said, glancing at the captain, who tensed. "D'you think everything's okay?"

The levity that had surrounded them evaporated, and no one spoke. Milo, maybe sensing his misstep, winced and looked down at the cards. "I'm sure it is. Okay, I mean. I'm just bored and saying silly things. You know how us shinies get," he added hopefully.

This was said to Stonewall, who nodded slowly, but twisted around in his seat to glance out the barrack's small window. The others followed suit. Kalinda Halcyon, their Jedi and general, had been recalled to the Temple suddenly, which, in Trax's limited experience in Jedi affairs, did not bode well for her. He didn't blame the captain for his distress.

Every member of the squad knew that Stonewall and their Jedi were romantically linked. And while Trax might have found the arrangement displeasing in his younger days, now it was such a steady facet of his life, he couldn't well imagine things any other way. The captain and general made a team to be reckoned with on their own, and the addition of the rest of the squad only improved matters. Besides, Stonewall was ass-over-_kama_ in love with the dark-haired woman, and she with him. In his more reflective moments, Trax liked the idea that a clone could find that kind of happiness. Though he wished...well, a lot of things, the sight of them together gave him hope for the future, or whatever sort of future a cloned soldier could have.

But one thing niggled at Traxis. Weave made another idle comment meant to distract, and Crest answered, but Traxis cast a wary glance at Stonewall, considering the events he'd witnessed on the planet Balasi. His captain met his gaze, and Traxis didn't have to be a Force-sensitive clone trooper to read the agitation in Stonewall's posture.

Of the entire squad, only Traxis knew their captain had the Force – somehow. The specifics were still something of a mystery to their Jedi general, and Trax had seen the evidence about two weeks ago on Balasi. In all likelihood, Stonewall was the reason Shadow Squad had been recalled to the capital world. And he knew it.

Trax frowned. But if that were the case...why wasn't Stonewall in the meeting with Kalinda? _Fek, _you'd think a Force-sensitive clone trooper would be enough of a novelty to warrant a trip to the Council chambers. As far as Trax knew, no other clone was like Stonewall. No other clone could access the Force.

Stonewall blinked once, and looked down, worry practically radiating from him for a moment before he glanced at Milo. "It's not that late, yet. Why don't you deal another round, Mi?"

The shiny obliged, and Traxis watched his captain try to pull himself together and make jokes with his men. No, there was no one else quite like him.

Across the small room, the door hissed open and a group of clones spilled inside, their armor splashed with the bright crimson insignia of the Coruscant Guard. Traxis' stomach flipped and his hand fell on the blaster pistol he wore at his hip without knowing why. Stonewall turned around and, seeing the dozen clones enter the room, got to his feet. Trax and the rest of Shadow Squad followed their captain's lead.

An officer, clearly marked by the _kama _at his waist, approached Stonewall. Too slowly. A warning siren began to blare in the back of Trax's mind.

"Can we help you?" Stonewall said as the officer paused before him.

The unnamed clone officer glanced at Traxis. "Put that away, or we'll do it for you."

Traxis scowled, but lifted his hand from his blaster. Mollified, the officer looked between the other clones, the blank T-visor of his helmet skimming over each of them in turn. "All of you, put your hands where I can see them, and don't fardling move unless I give the order."

Stonewall's shoulders straightened. "What's going on?"

"CC-3077?"

Stonewall frowned but nodded. Immediately, four clones broke from the ranks and lunged for him, grabbing his shoulders and arms, rendering him immobile. They forced him to his knees while a fifth trotted over and began searching him, running a hand-held scanner across his form, even though the body-glove didn't leave much to the imagination.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was that sense of self-preservation that ran so strongly in Jango Fett's DNA. Maybe it was desperation. But Stonewall acted, and it was in a way Traxis had only seen once before.

The captain stilled and ducked his head, and the air pressure in the room seemed to thicken as with an approaching storm. Something buzzed in Trax's ears and it was hard to breathe... Then Stonewall sprang to his feet, just as the five clones surrounding him were propelled backward as if shoved by an invisible hand. They tumbled over themselves and each other, knocking the Corrie Guard officer to the floor in the process.

"Fekking hell," the officer shouted as he clambered to his feet. "Stun him!"

"Captain!" Milo called, but the Corrie Guards had already regrouped.

Those who'd not been knocked away had rushed in to support their brothers, and Stonewall was lost in a sea of white and crimson armor. Trax and the others were slammed against the nearest wall with orders not to resist ringing in their ears. Heart hammering like some _shabla _machine, Trax snatched his shoulders out of the grip of the clone who held him so he could turn and see what they were doing to Stonewall.

A buzzing whine echoed in the room as the stun bolt hit his captain, and Trax watched in disbelief as Stonewall crumpled to the gleaming barracks floor. The fight was over. They'd lost.

Trax had lost before, many times. But never quite like this.

"Let him go," he heard himself snarl. "What in the Nine Hells is the matter with you? Karking _shabuir chakaare!_"

If the Corrie Guards understood the Mando'a curses, they didn't show it. They ignored Trax and picked up his captain's limp form. They ignored Crest's cries of indignation and Milo's pleas, and Weave's demands for a warrant, and they took Stonewall from the room in a dead-man's carry.

The remaining members of Shadow Squad were forcibly turned and made to face the unnamed officer, who rested his hands on his hips. "Orders just came in. Your captain is under arrest and you are to remain here until further notice." He paused and swiveled his helmet between the four unarmored, unarmed clones. "I was going to allow you to stay in the barracks, but after _that _little display, I think a holding cell is more appropriate."

"Orders?" Weave asked, his voice medic-calm. "Whose orders?"

Traxis gnashed his teeth, unconcerned with Officer Kark-head's answer. All that mattered was getting his captain back. But even so, he caught the words _Jedi _and _Council, _and ice ran through his veins. Did Kalinda know? His vision went white and hazy as rage took over. It didn't matter. Kalinda wasn't here. _He_ was. He could do something. He would.

Traxis glared at the Corrie Guard officer and wished to whatever fekking gods lived on this world that he could kill with a look.

Officer Kark-head raised his blaster at Trax. "Steady, trooper. One wrong move, and I'll have you carted off to Kamino with your captain. Understand?"

Without waiting for a response, the officer turned away, touching the side of his bucket in a way that meant he was speaking through his comm. His men continued to hold Shadow Squad, and for a few seconds the only things Trax was aware of were his own labored breathing and the shudder of blood through his veins. Adrenaline had kicked in, but had nowhere to go. He jerked against the grip of the man holding him, but didn't have enough leverage to break free, and the Corrie Guard held him firmly in place. Traxis felt his lips pull back in a sneer as he jerked again, but he could not move.

He fekking hated being helpless.

"Kamino?" Milo was beside him, breathing hard, voice soft.

Trax glanced over at his younger brother and noted the confusion in his eyes. "You heard Officer Kark-head, shiny."

Milo frowned. "But why would they send the captain to Kamino?"

No one else knew, and Trax had given his word he'd keep the secret. It shouldn't have mattered any more, but even now, he could not break a promise to Stonewall. "Does it karking matter? Kamino's a kriffing death sentence, and he's got no one to watch his six."

The shiny's eyes widened and his head ducked. Beyond him, Trax saw Weave and Crest listening to the exchange, but neither had a chance to speak.

"Oy, shut it, all of you," the Guard holding Trax said, adding a jerk on his arm to get his point across.

"_Fekking_ make us," Traxis growled. The Corrie Guard responded with a jab of his armored elbow into Trax's jaw; the resulting blow made his vision spotty, and he tasted copper where he'd bit his tongue. A red haze of pain washed over his consciousness, disorienting him and making him sag against the other clone's grip as he blinked at the barracks floor.

So he didn't quite know exactly how what happened, happened.

There was a scuffling noise, a creak of armor, and a hiss of pain. Someone shouted Milo's name; Traxis looked up just in time to see Shadow Squad's youngest member, who'd somehow broken free of his captor, lunge for Officer Kark-head.

The whole of it only took a few seconds. The officer turned toward the commotion and was met with Milo's right uppercut, the blow landing at just the right angle to knock Officer Kark-head's helmet off and send it clattering to the floor, where Stonewall had lain minutes ago. Traxis saw the officer's face: smooth, unblemished, a slightly aged mirror of Milo's.

Then Milo decked him again. Hard.

_Good work, Mi. There's hope for you, yet._

Officer Kark-head swore, and Traxis grinned despite his own frustration and his efforts to pull himself out of the Guard's grip. The other Guards swarmed around Milo, grabbing him and shoving him roughly to the ground, while Weave and Crest protested, but Trax knew Milo had put himself beyond his squad-mates' help. The officer stood over Mi, jerking the shiny's face up and forcing Milo to meet his gaze.

"Are you kriffing defective?" As he spoke, a trail of crimson escaped his nose and spattered on the clean, white patches of his kit. "What the _fek _is the matter with you?"

Milo's eyes flickered to Traxis, but it was a brief look, and Traxis' stomach twisted at the kid's next words."That color looks good on you, sir."

Maybe it was a good thing clones couldn't kill with a look, after all. Officer Kark-head glared at Milo, then turned to his men. "Get them all the hell out of here." He straightened and indicated the rest of Shadow. "Throw those three in a cell, and ship this," he nudged Milo's ribs with the toe of his boot, "milking sod on the first transport to Kamino."

"No!" A wave of helpless fury pulsed through Trax. Not Milo, too.

Crest and Weave, too, protested, but their words fell on deaf ears. Milo looked at the floor, but Traxis could not read his expression. That had never happened before. Four Corrie Guards wrestled Milo to his feet and shoved him out the door. He was gone. Both of them were gone.

Anger warred with fear and Traxis shuddered at the force of it. It was wrong. It was all wrong.

_It should be me. _

Traxis tensed his legs and tried to stand, but another clone hurried over and helped the first push him down. Two sets of hands, coupled with his position, meant he could not find his footing, and he could do _nothing. Nothing. _White rage filled his vision, and he settled into the feeling, using it to bolster his movements.

"Kriffing let us go!" Trax shouted, trying and failing to jerk free of his captor.

"You can't do this," Crest added, his words cracking. Traxis spared a millisecond to glance at his bald brother and see that Crest was also struggling against his captor.

Only Weave remained moderately steady, his gaze fixed on the T-visor of the officer's bucket. "Tell us why this is happening."

"For _fek's_ sake," Officer Kark-head muttered. He motioned to a few of his men. "Stun these three. I don't have time for this."

Traxis looked up, into the muzzle of a standard DC-17, and the blue ring of a stun bolt met his gaze. It bit cleanly through his body-glove and burrowed within his chest, and he sank to the gleaming barracks floor, heavy with regret.

_I'm sorry, Stonewall, _he thought as his world went black.

* * *

Milo relaxed into the Corrie Guards' grip. His stupid plan had worked; his captain would have someone to watch his six. He sighed with relief and let himself be dragged across the rec-room.

As he went, he glanced up and into the eyes of his _vode, _and a wave of chagrin moved through him. He wished he could make them understand, but it was too late now. He'd made his choice, and silently thanked Traxis for giving him the idea. Trax always reminded him what was really important.

Crest, too, had taught him some measure of irreverence, which he thought had served him well. And Weave, who always knew the right thing to say, and when to say it. Milo's boots slipped on the lip at the door's threshold, and the Guards who held him pulled him along with enough force to wrench his arm from his socket.

"Come on, crazy barve," one of them muttered.

Milo was silent, trying to get one last look at his _vode. _They were good soldiers and better men, and were obviously a heck of a lot smarter than he was. He was going to miss them. He watched them watching him, until he was taken from the room and into the shadows of the corridors beyond. Shadow Squad had become another part of his past.

* * *

A/N: This fic takes place about three years into the Clone Wars. As far as my timeline goes, it takes place about eight months after the events of _Untouchable, _and about five months after the events of _Better; _if you are familiar with my other stories, _Fearless_ will supersede the _Eye Of the Storm_ trilogy. While I don't think it's necessary to have read my other stories to understand this one, having done so will enhance your experience. I'll try to note where any references to previous fics occur.

Like most of my stuff, this story is OC-riddled, angsty, and romantic. It's also unapologetically AU. I initially tried to keep it within canon, but canon has thumbed its nose at me one too many times, so you know what? Screw canon. I'll make my own. :)

All song lyrics are reprinted without permission. Disney, not me, owns Star Wars, and if you think I'm making money from writing/posting this, PM me, as I have a Star Destroyer to sell you.

Conversely, all original content is mine. This includes, but is not limited to: characters, races and planets. If you'd like to borrow any of my original content, please read the note on my profile.

Comments, musings, questions, random thoughts...all are welcome with open arms. Complaints will be considered, but probably ignored. Flames will be mocked.

Deep, abiding gratitude to the immensely talented _**impoeia**_, whose beta-skills I often and shamelessly call upon. If you have not read her stories, do yourself a favor and let yourself be swept away by her marvelous OCs. :D

Please read and enjoy!

A note on the music:

Each chapter has a "song" that corresponds, which is listed at the outset. Some songs are a backdrop for the events of the chapter, or tie in with the strongest emotional notes, or fit a particular character at a particular moment.

All together, they make a pretty sweet playlist for this fic, the link to which can be found on my author page. It's not complete yet, but I'll be adding songs as we go.


	3. Chapter 2

Note: Due to sexual content, this chapter is rated "M."

Lyrics:"Counting Stars," by OneRepublic, the Moseqar remix. (The right version is _very_ important! Check my author page for the soundtrack link.)

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_Lately, I've been losing sleep,_

_Dreaming about the things that we could be._

_And lately, I've been praying hard,_

_Said no more counting dollars, _

_We'll be counting stars._

_Approximately one month ago..._

What the planet Coraux lacked in moons it made up in rings. Wide bands in varying shades of pearly gray crossed the horizon at an angle, casting a glow upon the rippling ocean beneath. The taste and smell of salt was pervasive as the balmy sea breeze, though the air was already beginning to cool with the promise of a deep, dark night. Tucked in the Expansion Region, Coraux was considered the jewel of its star system, and was home to vast resources, which, of course, the Republic needed in these trying times. Enter Shadow Squad.

Kalinda watched runnels of foamy water lap the shoreline, leaving faint, lacy patterns as the waves receded. She dug her toes into the damp sand and leaned back on her palms, breathing in the scents of salt and sea. The night sky was peppered with innumerable stars, though the glow of the rings made it difficult to distinguish individual constellations.

No one else was in view, even within earshot or reach with the Force. After the successful negotiations, they would be shipping out tomorrow morning, so she'd given the guys the night off to enjoy what they could in the capital city of Numen.

She exhaled and sat upright, crossing her legs and leaning forward so that she could pick up the bottle tucked in the sand beside her hip. One sip; she winced at the bite of Toydarian whiskey, but savored the burn that trickled down her throat and into her belly. Even for a Jedi, the liquor was strong, and already she felt a pleasant tingle in her limbs. She capped the bottle and set it down, then leaned back on her hands to savor the faint tilt of the entire world and the increasing numbness within her mind.

Obi-Wan would most certainly not have approved.

"The mission is over, Ben," she said aloud to the empty beach. "No one cares what I do anymore."

Her voice did not choke on her nickname for her oldest and dearest friend, but it should have. She should have been crying, weeping her kriffing eyes out, but her face was dry and her heart beat steadily on behind her ribs. Waves rushed to shore, stars wheeled far above, the rings circled the whole world around her. Everything was the same.

Except Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead.

"There you are."

Her captain's voice broke over her like a wave, and she closed her eyes. She hadn't sensed him, most likely due to a combination of her intoxication and his burgeoning Force-abilities. In addition to being handy with a lightsaber, it seemed he was excellent at being stealthy.

Eyes still closed, she exhaled again. "I'm not here, Stonewall. I'm only a figment of your imagination."

"Doubtful," he said in an amused voice. "I'm not _that_ creative."

A few grains of sand dusted her legs as he settled down beside her. As it always was, his clone body was warmer than most Humans', and she found herself leaning a little closer to him despite the balmy air. He did not hesitate to wrap his arm around her shoulders, allowing his warmth to settle over her like a cloak. Kali inhaled his familiar scent and opened her eyes. Tonight he wore only his off-duty fatigues, with no weapons to speak of, though she knew he was not without his own kind of defenses.

At last she met his gaze. "Didn't feel like carousing with the rest of the guys?"

Light brown eyes regarded her steadily. No, she thought. Not light brown. Other clones had light brown eyes. To her, Stonewall's eyes were the color of a jar of honey held up to the sunlight.

"Didn't much feel like carousing," he said.

"It's a nice night for it."

He rubbed her shoulder with his hand. "I still can't believe–"

"Don't," she warned him. "Don't say it."

"Kali–"

She sat up, causing his arm to fall down her back. Inchoate tears stung her eyes. "Don't say it. If you say it, it will be true."

Stonewall glanced at the bottle of Toydarian whiskey. "It's true whether you acknowledge it or not."

"No."

She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them close. He said nothing for a moment, but she felt him reaching out to her through the Force; tentative tendrils of energy curling toward her own Force-presence as he tried to comfort her on an unspoken level, where she'd deliberately walled her emotions away. Kali wanted to recoil into her own grief, but Stonewall's Force-presence was quiet, calm. Loving. He sought her out because she was hurting and he wanted to help. He gave every part of himself to her without reservation, and she knew he always would.

There were times when her captain was more a Jedi than she'd ever been.

Kali took a deep breath and unfolded her body as she allowed him entry into her mind. Waves of love washed over her, mimicking those that brushed against the shoreline, and something inside of her gave way. She leaned into his side again and allowed him to wrap her in both arms.

"He's gone," she murmured, blinking into the soft cotton of Stone's shirt. "I can't believe he's gone."

Stonewall's reply was dark. "A kriffing bounty hunter. I'd never have thought–" He bit off the words and sighed, rubbing Kali's back again. "Obi-Wan was a good Jedi, and a better man. I'm lucky I got to know him a little bit. I owe that to you."

"We won't be able to go to the funeral," Kali said after a beat. "Mace wants us to try and head off that trouble on Balasi as soon as we're done here."

"Maybe he could make an exception?"

Kali chuckled, but the sound held no humor. "He's never made an exception for me before. I doubt he'll change his ways now."

She caught sight of Stonewall's frown, but he did not comment further, only rubbed her shoulders again as they watched the waves. A breeze blew, slightly less pleasant than before, and Kali's skin prickled against the cooling air. She wore only a thin tunic and leggings pulled up to her calves, having abandoned her traditional robes in her and Stonewall's shared quarters in the ambassador's guest villa.

"Cold?"

"A little," she whispered.

In response, his arm curled around her tightly, drawing her closer and knocking the bottle of whiskey over in the process. Stone was so warm, so solid. Kali leaned against him and buried her nose in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling the scent of sea salt and soap, and _Stonewall. _She was not alone.

But he was a soldier, a clone created for one clear purpose. He was a man with an expiration date and a short shelf life.

And she didn't know what she would do when he was gone, too.

Kali sighed into him, then reached for the bottle. She took a quick, deep drink before handing it to her captain, who accepted. He studied the label a moment, then craned his head to look down at her. "Toydarian? You don't mess around, do you?"

"Mmm."

Another gentle prod of the Force against her consciousness. "Are you drunk? I can never tell."

Kali held up her thumb and forefinger, spacing them about a centimeter apart. "Ish."

"Drunk-ish." He chuckled, then tipped a measure of liquor down his own throat. "May as well join you."

"There's not much else to do right now."

He indicated the surf and the gently lapping waves. "We could go for a swim."

"Tried it. That water is fragging _freezing_," Kali said, wriggling her bare toes. She sat up suddenly, arching her back and batting her lashes with exaggerated coyness. "We could still get naked."

He gave her a slow, deliberate smile. "Right here? Sand like this gets _everywhere_."

"Well, we have a perfectly nice bed in the villa." Kali plucked the bottle from his hand and took another long drink, gazing at the sea. Her thoughts buzzed and it was difficult to find a purchase for her eyes on the undulating ocean, so she looked back at her steadfast companion.

"Stone?"

"Yeah?"

Her heart thrummed a little too fast as she looked into his honey-brown eyes that contrasted with the backdrop of rings and stars and inky sky. "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything. Name it." He sat up, the motion sloppy, and she giggled. He was such a kriffing lightweight.

Kali took a breath to regain what seriousness she could. Oddly, it helped to think of how Obi-Wan would handle a situation like this, though she knew he'd never _quite _had to ask this sort of thing. At least, she thought so. No telling what shenanigans he and Cody had gotten up to when they were alone. _That _thought made her giggle again, though her amusement was immediately followed by chagrin, because Obi-Wan was gone and she could never tease him again. She could never see his frown of disapproval at her lewd jokes, right before a smile broke through and he made one of his own, clever enough to put her in her place while making her blush from head to toe.

"_Kali'ka_?" Stonewall's baritone, coupled with his Mando'a nickname for her, drew her back to the present, and she felt the warm press of his hand on her arm. "What do you want me to do?"

She blinked at her captain, at his serious face that held a shadow of stubble from his last shave this morning. His eyes were warm, like the rest of him. She wondered if their child would have his eyes, or her own dark ones. She hoped his.

"I want something from you," she said slowly.

He tilted his head in confusion. "Right. What?"

"A child."

Stonewall's body stilled. Even the rise and fall of his chest ceased, as if he were dead. But his eyes were wide and fixed on her, and slowly, so slowly, his mouth fell open as pure shock radiated from him, streaks of lightning that illuminated his Force-presence.

In an effort to revive him, Kali rapped her knuckles lightly against his forehead. "Hello? Anyone home?"

He shook his head once and looked down, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear his eyes. Finally he looked up at her again. Confusion ebbed from him, and no small amount of surprise, but she also sensed something else: happiness and delight strong enough to make her eyes water.

"A child?" he whispered, eyes still wide. "Are you serious?"

She nodded.

He exhaled and looked at the bottle, then back at her. "Why?"

"Why not?"

Stonewall gestured to the sky and sea. "A million reasons. Pick one."

"You're going to die one day," she told him. "And I can't..." Her throat tightened and heat pricked at her eyes. _Ben would definitely not approve. _"I can't be without you, too. I want to have a family with you, but I also...need something of you to keep with me after you're gone." Now her cheeks grew wet, heated by emotion and cooled by the wind. "Please don't leave me alone."

"Kali..." His own voice was hoarse.

"I know." She swiped at her eyes and looked away from him. "It's all so stupid."

"You're drunk," he replied, adding a resigned, wry, "ish."

She shook her head, strong enough to cause some of her hair to come unbound from the single braid that fell over her shoulder. "Maybe so, but I still want this."

Stonewall ran a hand over his face, and she felt his emotions playing wick-ball within his heart. _No; it would be foolish and selfish, and would bring nothing but regret. Yes; I want this too, more than anything. _

At last he looked back at her, and she saw with a pang that his own eyes were bright and wet. "How can you ask this of me? You know what I want, Kali. You _know_ I want this."

"Then–"

"No." Her heart beat faster still, but she said nothing as she waited for him to speak his mind. "More than anything in this galaxy, I want to build a life with you. A family, a home." His jaw tightened and his hands balled into fists. "But I refuse to leave you with such a burden, especially knowing I won't be around to help carry it. I'm _not_ that kind of man."

"I know, you're better than that," she whispered. "But I'm not."

He faced the ocean. "The Council will expel you from the Order," he said after a beat.

"Only if they find out."

"Won't they?"

Now, oddly, she found she was able to smile. "My father managed it. At least I come by such deceptions honestly."

Stonewall took a deep, shuddering breath, and flexed his hands again. "We're fighting a war."

Kali bounced her scarred, left knee in the sand. "We're not exactly on the front lines."

"But our lives are still dangerous," he said, sitting up and twisting to her, eyes alight as he settled on the argument. "This has been a quiet mission, but there are plenty of missions that aren't so...easy."

"I can take care of myself," Kali told him. "I _am _a Jedi, remember? Even though I don't act like one a lot of the time." Besides, what she lacked in battle-prowess, she made up for with other, unique Force-abilities. "And," she ventured, "I have you and the guys to watch my six."

"The guys..." He shook his head, a half-smile coming to his face, though it faded quickly. "They wouldn't know what to do with a youngling. Any more than I would."

"From what I understand, it's a learning process."

Stonewall nodded, but his gaze was distant, thoughtful. Hope blossomed in her chest, but she held it in check and drew little spirals in the sand beneath her bent knees.

Finally he exhaled again. "We can't raise a child on the _Wayfarer_, Kali. You know that."

"True..." Kali considered, then shrugged. "I know it will be difficult, but we can make it work. Even if we have to find a home somewhere else."

He made a noise of disbelief. "It's not that easy! It can't be."

"But what if it is?" She folded her legs beneath her and faced him, taking his left hand in both of hers and meeting his eyes. "Stonewall...I love you."

He frowned. "I love you, too."

"We love each other and we want to share our lives – or at least whatever we'll have together." On a whim, she grabbed a handful of sand and shook it out over the beach, the grains falling through her palms; some were scattered by the breeze, others fell back to the sand. "But we don't have much time. We _know_ we don't have much time. There are no guarantees that either of us will be here tomorrow."

"Kali–"

"We are given no promises," she told him, breaking through his potential words. "Only choices. And I want to make this one, stupid though it may be. No one ever asked me if I wanted to be a Jedi and although I love it, I still want to choose the life I get to live. I want to choose you." She held his eyes with her own. "What do you want, Stonewall?"

His lips parted. His eyes were wide and fixed on hers, and she could feel his pulse racing beneath the sheltering layer of his skin. Through the Force, she touched his bright spirit and found it pulsing, rippling with agitation and fears, all of which she shared. There was so much that could go wrong, after all. There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea.

But love, love overlaid all other things, sparkling through his essence to settle over his doubts. Love resonated between them, and she knew it would be enough to keep them whole. Through the Force, Kali watched, marveling, as Stonewall found a certainty that matched her own. At last, at long last, he nodded once, and wrapped his right hand around hers.

"I choose you," he told her. "Always."

Her heart swelled within her chest, pushing away the final wisps of her own fear, and she leaned into him once more, pressing her body to his and circling his broad shoulders with her arms. He returned the embrace without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her back and twining his hands in her hair. Now that his mind was made up, he would be steadfast in his decision and never look back.

"I love you so much," he murmured into her ear. The deep resonance of his voice sent shivers through her whole self.

"I know," she replied, blinking back tears. "Sweet Force, do I know."

* * *

_Later..._

Stonewall held her in his arms, and looked into her eyes as he released himself into her body. Her lips parted, her skin flushed, and her grip on his shoulders tightened as he filled her, and her own cries assured him she'd also found her release. Though the Force, he touched his mind to hers, and she to his, and they shared this part of themselves, too.

Once he could think clearly again, he made to slip out of her, but she held him in place with her calves pressed to his back. "Don't leave," she whispered, her breath still short. "Come closer. "

Panting, he settled down on his elbows and studied her. It was odd to remain inside of her after his release, but not unwelcome. "How does this work, exactly?"

"I don't know. I've never _tried _to get pregnant before. Usually it's the other way around. I think," her gaze turned distant and unfocused, "we just...concentrate."

"On what?"

Kali gave a light, hazy laugh. "What do you think?"

"This wasn't exactly covered in the flash-training back on Kamino."

She gave him a wry look heavily laced with affection, then reached down to where their bodies were still joined. She pressed her hand to the flat of her belly, below her navel, and met his eyes again. Between them, the Force rippled, and he felt her emotions as keenly as his own.

"You and me, and the new life we can create," she whispered. "Focus on that."

Stonewall nodded and ducked his head, closing his eyes as he often did when he tried to access the Force. Once it had been odd to do so; now it was second nature to reach into himself, to the well of energy that thrilled through his blood like starlight. He inhaled and caught the scents of sweat, sex, balmy ocean air. He exhaled and pushed them all out of his consciousness and concentrated on her body, and his, and what could be.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, nor if what he was doing had any effect. He could feel _her _and _himself, _but no more. He was not a Jedi, after all, only a new Force-sensitive, and not even that much.

Something soft brushed against his hand. He opened his eyes and saw Kali's unasked question, so he shifted his body-weight to his left arm and gave her his right hand. She pulled it down and placed it on her abdomen, and rested her hand upon it. She looked into his eyes and this time he did not look away.

_Inhale_. He gathered up his love for her, his hopes and wishes for the shape their lives could take. He savored the luster of her dark eyes and the curve of her mouth as she smiled. Would their child look like her, or him? He hoped her; the galaxy was full of his face, but only one of hers.

_Exhale_. He released everything into her. He felt his energy blend with hers, weaving in a bright pattern that surrounded and filled them both. He lost himself to the marvel of it, until he felt her gentle nudge in the Force. Her eyes had closed and her lips were parted as her focus sharpened, and he watched her, awestruck, as she directed their energy to where they wanted it to be.

Stonewall did not know what to expect. What he felt was a spark, so tiny, almost nothing at all. Had he not been so aware of Kali, he would have missed that first moment, that new beginning. But there it was. Her dark eyes opened and she smiled up at him.

His heart began to race again. "Did it work?"

Kali pressed her hand to his, above the place where their child would grow. Her smile was as wide as his, and just as awe-filled. "Yes."

* * *

_Present day..._

"Captain?"

His arms ached...no, make that his whole kriffing body. His throat was as dry as Tatooine, and his mouth might've been filled with sand. A persistent throbbing pulsed through his head, and each breath hurt. Something hummed beneath his cheek. _Fek, _he was sore and tired, and he didn't know what the kriff was going on.

"Captain?"

Stonewall groaned. Where the _shab_ was he? He struggled to find purchase in his memories. Guard barracks...a lost sabacc game. One of many. His pulse kicked up its pace. Corrie Guards, arresting him. A stun bolt to the chest, sans armor.

Well, that would explain why he felt like five kinds of _haran. _

A nudge at the top of his head. "Wake up, Captain."

It was a brother's voice, one he'd know anywhere, and it was enough to pull him out of his stunned haze. Stonewall took a deep breath and gathered what strength he could, then forced open his eyes. The first thing he saw was Milo's upper thigh, right beside his nose; craning his neck up, he found himself looking into a familiar face.

"Mi?" he croaked.

"Yep." Milo looked about as relieved as he sounded, though his hands were bound behind his back. "Can you sit up, sir?"

Stonewall shifted his arms and realized his wrists were also bound. He swallowed, and something pinched around his neck. His first thought was that it was the collar of his body-glove, but it felt wrong...thicker, heavier, and metallic. _What the fek? _

"Here," Milo said suddenly, twisting his back to Stonewall. "Use me for leverage."

Pain and disorientation made it difficult to move, but after a few moments Stonewall was able to maneuver to an upright position. Glancing around, he realized he and Mi were alone on a dim transport of some kind; there were faint running lights along the floor and the emergency evac hatch glowed red at the far end. The familiar vibration of the bulkhead made him think they were in hyperspace.

Stonewall glanced at his _vod. _"Where are we going?"

"Kamino."

_So my secret's out, I guess. _Perhaps he should have been more upset, but he felt oddly calm. Probably because reality hadn't quite sunk in. Stonewall nodded slowly, the movement causing the metallic collar around his neck to chafe. Thankfully, other than a bruise at his temple, Milo looked to be in one piece.

"What are _you_ doing on a transport to Kamino?" Stonewall asked.

The younger clone grimaced. "Uh...I got lucky, I think."

"Lucky?"

Milo flushed but he sat up and gave Stonewall a determined look. "They were taking you away, and you needed someone to watch your six. Trax started it, but I..." He ducked his head. "I finished it. I punched the officer and they sent me with you. They didn't give me a weird collar-thing, though."

"You punched...?" Stonewall didn't know whether to laugh or cry, or possibly court-martial his younger brother. All he was able to do was lean his head back against the transport's wall, which was a bad idea because even the light tap hurt.

"I know," Milo said, shifting closer to Stonewall and glancing warily at the dark interior of the transport. "Dumb grunt. _Shabla di'kut_ shiny, that's me."

Guilt swam through Stonewall. If he'd been open with his men, if he'd told them the truth, maybe Milo wouldn't have risked his own _shebs _and followed his captain on what was probably their last flight.

Stonewall sighed and nudged Mi's shoulder with his. "You're not dumb or a _di'kut_, Mi, and to be honest, I'm glad you came along, even though I really wish you hadn't. You should have stayed with the others..."

He trailed off, heart seizing. _Trax, Weave, Crest... _

_Kali. Our child._

It took every effort to keep his voice steady; he told himself that he didn't want to worry Mi too much by giving into the panic that was starting to tighten his guts. "What happened to them?"

"Dunno." Milo shivered and pressed his back into the bulkhead. "I think the Corrie Guard officer said something about putting them in cells." He paused, then shot Stonewall a reassuring look. "I'm sure the general will find them. And us," he added as an afterthought. "We didn't do anything wrong. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding?"

The tone of his voice gave him away. It was too bright and fell flat against the bulkhead. Even Milo was not _that _shiny. But Stonewall recognized the need for such deceptions now, so he nodded slowly. "Yeah, maybe so."

"We've only been in hyperspace for about fifteen minutes," Milo said. "Maybe a little more. It's been about an hour since we were in the barracks." There was a frown in his voice. "Feels like longer."

Stonewall nodded, but had turned his attention to other things. Ignoring the protesting aches of his body, he sat up as straight as he could. He shut his eyes and inhaled, exhaled, focusing entirely on the familiar breathing pattern until he felt himself relax just a bit. Hopefully it would be enough. He inhaled and gathered his strength. He exhaled and reached through the Force, for her.

Filaments of awareness stretched for Coruscant, where his heart was. Could they cross the vast emptiness between stars? Stonewall shut away everything else, even Milo, and concentrated on the bright presence of the woman he loved. He reached for her, pulling himself along on the threads that connected them in the Force. _Kali?_

At first there was no reply, and he was truly lost.

Then, faint, so faint, barely a spark, he felt her reply. _Stonewall! Where are you? You feel...far away._

He slumped against the wall, for the moment too overwhelmed with relief to reply. But time was not a luxury he'd ever had, so he took a breath and tried to say what he needed. _I'm with Milo. We're on a transport for Kamino. _

_Milo?_

The clone in question shifted a bit closer, as if seeking comfort, and Stonewall felt a flare of protection for the younger man. _He...wanted to have my six. We think the others are still at the Corrie Guard barracks. _He took a deep breath, throat tightening as he thought of all they'd lost. _They know, Kali. They have to know. Why else would the Council do this?_

Her reply was immediate, and laced with an anger that took him aback. _No one on the Council knows about your abilities, Stone. Only Obi-Wan. _

And dead men tell no tales. Stonewall shook his head. What other reason would there be for him to have been carted off to Kamino? And if the Council didn't know, then who did?

But he didn't think he could go into all of that now; already their connection was tentative. He didn't want to risk losing it. _Please don't come for me, _he told her, forcing both his thoughts and his seriousness through the connection of their bond. _Don't risk your life, or our child's._

_You know I can't leave you– _

_We knew this could happen. We knew it could end badly. You have too much to lose now to risk it all for me._

_You're right, _she replied, her emotions rippling with agitation. _We have too much to lose. So I'm not going to let us._

Despite himself, he smiled. _Plucky determination will only get you so far. _

_Yes, well I'm hopeless that way. _Her thoughts warmed and swelled with love. _I'll find you, Stonewall. Wherever you go, whatever happens, I will find you. _

Fek, he wanted to believe her. But it was hard to put stock in hope when his hands were bound and he and his brother were on their way to the storm-world from where they'd come. So he only nodded once. _I love you, Kali'ka. _

She said something else, but their connection was dimming and he missed it. Anxious, he sat up and tried to close the distance, like a child stretching his arm out to reach something on the highest shelf...

The collar around his neck beeped, emitting a red flash in the dim cabin. An accompanying jolt of pain followed, streaking through Stonewall's body and cutting off his concentration. The tentative connection snapped, and he gasped at the loss.

"Sir?" Milo's voice was worried. "Stonewall? Are you okay?"

The collar had only emitted a small pulse of electricity, but the pain was enough to make him dizzy. Stonewall sucked in a breath and forced his eyes to focus on his _vod _watching him, wide eyes flickering between his face and the collar. "Yeah..."

Milo nudged his shoulder. The brief contact was a welcome change from the pain, but did not erase the memory. "I thought you went to sleep."

Stonewall shook his head, then nudged his chin along the collar's edge to get a better sense of the thing. Metallic, with some sort of vinyl padding on the interior, which made him think it was meant to be worn for prolonged periods. Obviously, it was meant to restrict his Force-abilities, though he wondered why it had not worked immediately. Maybe because he wasn't that strong with the Force to begin with?

In any case, he was in no state to risk another shock; his body still buzzed with pain from the device and the remnants of the stun bolt. As much as he hated to admit it, he would not be able to attempt to contact Kali again, at least not for a little while.

"Sir?"

_Come on, _he told himself, _keep it together. You're a captain, for fek's sake. Kriffing act like one. _He sat up and glanced around; they were alone in the transport. Did it matter if it was bugged? Probably not. The fact that he wore a Force-suppressing collar meant that his secret was out, so there was really nothing left to lose.

He looked at Milo. "I'm alright, _vod. _But we need to talk; there's some intel you should probably know."

Milo sat up as well, eyes alert, and Stonewall took a deep breath. "So, as it happens, not only Jedi can use the Force..."

* * *

A/N: The planet Coraux is my creation. It first appeared in my fic, _Sacrifice_, many moons ago. If you're curious, the word sort of rhymes with "arrow," though the accent is on the first part of the word. COR-aux.

Next time: back to the rest of Shadow Squad.


	4. Chapter 3

Lyrics: "Miniature Disasters," by KT Tunstall, from _Acoustic Extravaganza._

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_Miniature disasters and minor catastrophes,_

_Bring me to my knees._

_Well, I must be my own master, _

_Or a miniature disaster _

_Will be the death of me._

_On Coruscant..._

Fully-clothed in her traditional Jedi robes, Kalinda sat upon the closed toilet lid and tried not to cry.

She was not entirely successful.

When Stone had contacted her, she'd been, of all places, one of the public 'freshers in the main Temple atrium. Morning sickness was a joke; there were days she was queasy from the moment she opened her eyes to the middle of the night, though she thought her nausea today had more to do with current events rather than the early stages of her pregnancy. Though their connection had been tentative, it was still a shock when it'd been cut off so abruptly, and she could not reach him any longer.

Deep breaths. Focus on the _here _and _now, _the only things she could control. She could not help Stonewall and Milo by sitting in the 'fresher and sobbing her eyes out, no matter how much she wanted to. Another breath, and this time when she swiped the tears away with the sleeve of her robe, more did not immediately follow. Small victories.

First things first. Shadow Squad was on-planet and needed help. She pushed away all thoughts of her own situation to focus on theirs. The 'fresher was empty, but she didn't feel comfortable making a comm-call here, so she adjusted her robes and slipped out the door and into the wide mezzanine of the Temple. Beams of light filtered in through the high windows, their angle indicating the sun was setting. Only a few Jedi, mostly younglings and their minders, meandered through the carpeted walkways. It took every ounce of control Kali possessed to keep her emotions from resonating through the Force and drawing unwanted attention.

After leaving the Council chambers, she'd originally thought to go to her quarters to collect herself, but her rooms were many levels away from here and her priorities had shifted after her brief contact with Stonewall. Besides, almost every possession that mattered was on the _Wayfarer_, in the GAR hangar near the Coruscant Guard barracks.

The thought made her eyes heat again. Would the guys get to keep the instruments she'd given them in their new units? _Stop it, _she told herself furiously, clenching her jaw as she strode through the Temple corridors. _Calm the kriff down and focus on one thing at a time. _

When she turned a corner and saw that she was alone, she paused in an alcove, withdrew her comlink and called Weave. The only reply was a pattern of beeps that indicated he was not available. She tried again; sometimes he grew lost in his thoughts and didn't notice his comm right away. Sometimes...

Nothing. She tried Crest's comlink, and Traxis', but neither man answered, so she took a deep, steadying breath and began to hurry down the corridor, towards the turbolift that would deposit her on the level that housed the nearest docking complex. The Guard barracks were not far, but she'd need a speeder to reach them quickly. What she hoped to accomplish when she reached it was another matter. If the Council _had_ sent Stonewall away and arrested the rest of her team, then it was likely she was on her way to a jailbreak of some kind. But that didn't feel right; Mace was harsh, but he was forthright. If he'd had plans to send Stonewall to Kamino, he would have told her so.

Perhaps Stonewall was right, and his situation had more to do with the wrong person learning of his new abilities. But whom? Trax knew, but he was beyond suspicion. Ro and Lieutenant Wren knew, but Kali trusted the Altisian Jedi to keep the secret, for she and Wren had so many of their own and no great love for the Council, or even the GAR.

But if not them, than _whom? _Her steps quickened, as did the beat of her heart.

Onceshe stepped out of the turbolift on the hangar's level, Kali paused outside the wide hangar doors to collect herself. She'd been lucky and not seen many others on the way here, but chances were she'd have to interact with another sentient to get access to a speeder, and if she looked as distraught as she felt, questions would be asked and time would be wasted.

She caught her reflection in the gleaming doors. Her braid was mussed and her clothing rumpled, so she hastily redid the braid and smoothed her beige tunic, then lifted her shoulders and stepped through the hangar doors.

The hangar was vast by necessity, though it was only one of several housed by the Temple. The sleek starships favored for long-range missions were in another area; this hangar held shorter-range vehicles. The hangar itself was dimly-lit overall, though motion-sensor spotlights could be activated for mechanical work. Several hundred meters away, the opening to Coruscant beckoned, gleaming bright gold in the setting sun.

Since the Wars had started, the GAR had all but taken over the Jedi Temple hangar. Most of the space was taken up by the squat, bird-shaped LAAT/i troop transports, but she spotted the rows of gleaming speeders at the hangar's other side, so she began to cross the permacrete floor. Though her stride was purposeful she did not run or jog; she walked briskly through the space as if on an important, completely legitimate assignment. Which she was...from a certain point of view.

A few clone technicians and pilots were clumped around some of the vessels, some armored, some dressed in grease-spattered coveralls. None noticed her at first, and she felt a slip of hope, along with an idea...

But her mind was too frazzled, her concentration pulled in too many directions, for her to create the Force-shield that allowed her to move around unseen and undetectable by life-form scanners. Besides, she had a feeling that someonewas _more_ likely to notice a speeder that began driving itself than one piloted by a Jedi.

"Good evening, sir." The clone voice was genial, but its suddenness made her heart seize. Kali paused as a fully-armored trooper flagged her down with a lift of his hand as he met her at the edge of the neat line of speeders.

Kali gave a slight bow from the waist, as was proper. "Good evening, trooper. I need a speeder...whom do I speak to about requisitioning one?"

He held up a datapad. "I can help you with that, General...?"

The thought occurred to her that being on probation might mean her speeder clearance was gone, but surely not. She was still a Jedi, after all. _It's not like I'm trying to borrow a Star Destroyer or something. _

"Halcyon," she said calmly. "General Kalinda Halcyon."

"Thank you, General." The clone tapped against his datapad, then, when the 'pad gave a wary beep, tilted his head as if confused. Her stomach sank when his T-visor tilted back up at her, embarrassment radiating from him. "I'm sorry, sir. It seems your speeder clearance has been rescinded. I can't allow you to check out a vehicle without authorization from a Council member."

_Kriffing son of a shabla nerf-herder. _Kali schooled herself to calm and furrowed her brow. "That's odd," she said, genuinely confused. "Are you sure?"

"Let me check again, just in case." He entered the info, and the 'pad made the same unhappy noise. "Yes, sir, it's coming up negative," he said, showing her the screen. "Perhaps it is a mistake. Is there a member of the Council you'd like me to call?"

_Not karking likely. _As subtly as she could manage, Kali reached to the clone through the Force to get a sense of the fellow. She found a young man, possibly not long off of Kamino, eager to please and succeed on his first assignment, but unwilling to bend any rules that might land him a reprimand.

In some ways, he reminded her of Milo when she'd first met him, so Kali gave a nod. "No, I can handle that. What's your name, trooper?"

He straightened and she felt a flare of worry from him for refusing her request. "Podger, sir."

"It's good to meet you, Podger." Kali gave him another smile, while flickering her gaze around them to ensure they were alone. No other clones were in sight. "Thank you for the information; I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, but either way, I'll tell the Council you're doing an admirable job."

His worry dissipated with her words and smile, and his posture became slightly less rigid. "Thank you, sir. I _am_ sorry I can't help you," he added quickly.

She shrugged, and casually reached her hand up as if to toy with her braid, silently apologizing to the young man for what she was about to do. Her fingertips fluttered as she directed a pulse of persuasive Force-energy at the clone's mind, while giving him a warm look.

"You're right; it must be a mistake," she said in her friendliest voice. "But, Podger, I _really_ do need a speeder right now. Surely you can help me."

Podger's Force-presence rippled with hesitation at first, but relinquished after a moment as he nodded. "It must be a mistake, General," he said, glancing back at his datapad. "If you really need a speeder right now, I can help you."

"Thank you, Podge," Kali said, winking at him for good measure. His Force-presence glimmered with pleased embarrassment at the nickname and the wink, and she fought back her own chagrin at the act of toying with the young clone's emotions. She _hated _mind-tricks, but in this situation they were a necessary evil.

Podger entered some more information into his 'pad, then indicated a nearby airspeeder, closed-top model with crimson bands at the nose. "I'll just mark this one as out for maintenance; please return it within one rotation, or we'll have to activate the tracking limpet...and I'll get a reprimand."

"Sure thing," Kali said as she slipped behind the steering console. She fired up the speeder and offered Podger a final smile. "Thanks again, Podge. You're an asset to the GAR."

He saluted her sharply then stepped away as she maneuvered the speeder towards the hangar's opening. The moment she was clear of the Temple, a blast of cool air hit her face and she realized how quickly nighttime was settling over the planet. The darkness was gathering, and each passing second was one more where Shadow Squad needed her.

Milo.

Stonewall.

Blinking rapidly, Kali pressed a hand to her abdomen, but was able to keep her tears at bay this time. _Focus on the here and now, _she told herself, and gunned the engines.

* * *

_Meanwhile, in the Coruscant Guard detention area..._

Eyes closed, Weave leaned his head against the walls of the cell. "Trax, for the last time, please sit down."

His scarred brother ignored him and continued stalking through the little round cell, pausing every so often to slam his fist against the walls, the door frame, the benches that lined the area; anything that would withstand the abuse. "I'll _fekking_ sit when they _fekking_ shoot my _fekking_ legs out from under me," he growled. "_Fek_."

"You said that already," Crest said from across the room.

Traxis exhaled sharply. "Yeah, well, I'm not feeling too kriffing creative right now, Baldy. Oh, look," he added, leveling a brutal kick at the wall beside him. "I bounced back."

Crest gave a weary chuckle. "Good one, _vod_."

There were a few moments of relative quiet while Trax resumed his pacing, then Crest spoke up again. "How long has it been since they took the captain and Mi?"

"Two hours," Traxis said darkly. "Two _fekking _hours of sitting on our _shebse _and kriffing _waiting. _I'm starting to lose my _shabla_ patience."

The comment caused Weave to exchange glances with Crest, their thoughts clearly echoing one another. _Starting to? _Weave pulled himself away from the wall and leaned forward, knees on his elbows as he considered their situation again. Following the debacle in the barracks' rec-room, the three remaining members of Shadow Squad had been brought to a detention cell without a clue as to what was going on. Weave had asked if they could call their Jedi general, but his request had been ignored, and they'd not heard a peep out of anyone since.

Frowning, Weave laced his fingers together in an effort to calm himself. Trax wasn't the only one losing his patience; he just made it known. If Weave would have had something to _do _rather than just sit here, it might have been easier, but he didn't have so much as a bacta patch on him, and he felt a bit naked without his medic-pack. Their kits and equipment were not here, obviously, possibly still in the barracks, where they'd been left after Shadow had returned from the showers.

The worst part was _not knowing. _Why had the captain been arrested and taken to Kamino? Why had the rest of them been tossed in a cell without even getting a chance to comm their general? And where was Kalinda? Did she even know what had happened?

And _what _sort of stunt had the captain pulled in the first place, to knock all those clones backward without touching them?

"Why in the Nine Hells did Milo hit that officer?" Crest said suddenly, causing the other two to glance his way. The bald clone sat with his back to the wall, his legs pulled close to his chest. "It's not like him to pull a punch like that, though it was pretty impressive."

Traxis froze in the center of the room. His head ducked and his hands balled into fists at his sides. "It's my fekking fault," he said hoarsely. "I was," he took a shuddering breath, "worried for Stonewall, and Mi may have heard me say that the captain wouldn't have anyone to watch his six. _And_ I tried to punch Officer Kark-head first, which I think gave him the idea."

Weave was silent, considering. It made sense; Milo was nothing if not loyal to his _vode_, and he had a streak of deviousness that occasionally surfaced, albeit rarely. He looked up to his squad-mates, always hoping to prove himself as more than a "shiny."

_Milo, you brave di'kut, _Weave thought with a sigh. _What the kriff have you gotten yourself into?_

Crest cleared his throat. "Officer Kark-head?"

"Yeah." Trax kicked the nearest bench, the resulting _clang _echoing in the small space. "Seemed fitting, especially since the _chakaar _didn't deign to give us his _fekking_ name."

"I like it," Crest said, sitting up and regarding Traxis. "And I have to say...that was one hell of a right uppercut on Mi's part. I bet Officer Kark-head will have a lovely, purple bruise tomorrow."

Traxis snorted with amusement. "We can effing well hope."

Weave glanced at Traxis. "You were closer to Stonewall than I was...did you see what he did to those Guards?"

Trax went still. "What do you mean?"

"Yeah, that was weird," Crest added thoughtfully. "I mean, I didn't get a good look, but it _looked _like he sort of shoved them away, without touching–"

"He just shoved them," Trax broke in. "I was right there; I saw the whole thing."

But his voice was too earnest and his words came too quickly. Weave studied his scarred brother carefully, and wondered why Traxis did not meet his eyes. However, before the conversation could continue, the door slid open, revealing a group of four Corrie Guards, each carrying a standard DC-17 blaster. One clone entered while the other three flanked him on the other side of the threshold.

"Which one of you sods is Sergeant Weave?"

Traxis crossed his arms before his chest, feet squared. "Who the kriff wants to know?"

But Weave had already gotten to his feet. He slipped past Trax and went to stand about a meter from the newcomers, hands at his sides, voice calm. He didn't want to give anyone a reason to use those blasters. "I'm Weave," he said with a nod. "Is there a prob– "

Before he could finish, the first Corrie Guard gestured to Weave, and two of his men slipped by him, to where Weave stood. One man cuffed him while the other faced Trax and Crest, the latter of whom had stood as well.

"What are you doing with him?" Crest's voice was laced with agitation.

Traxis' words held nothing but fury. "The _fek _is going on?"

The first clone shifted his blaster, his T-visor swiveling between Weave's squad-mates, and Weave's stomach tightened with nerves even as he forced his words to be steady. "Calm down, both of you," he said to them in Mando'a. "I don't want anyone else getting stunned or shipped off to Kamino. There's been enough of that to last us a lifetime."

"_Vod_..." Trax said, but the word trailed off.

Weave was led out of the cell by the two clones, each gripping a bicep like their lives depended on it. He offered no resistance, but he did want some answers. The moment the cell door closed behind him, he glanced at the first clone, who seemed to be the leader of the small group. "What's going on? Where are you taking me?"

He expected another non-answer, but surprisingly, the Corrie Guard obliged him. "Commander Fox's office; standard debriefing before you and your squad's release. Apparently your Jedi is here to collect the lot of you."

Relief so strong it ached coursed through Weave's body and he nodded once. "Then we should hurry. I have no wish to keep my general waiting."

They led him down the winding corridors without another word. He tried to remember the way back to the cell, just in case, but his attention was pulled in too many directions to manage it, and before he knew it, they passed into what appeared to be a more administrative section of the barracks. The rows of cells were replaced with offices, and he could hear a chorus of good-natured jeers from a nearby rec-room, though he didn't recognize the area as the one Shadow Squad had been in a couple of hours earlier.

Weave's escort paused before a bland office door, and one of them pressed the lock panel. The screen glowed bright green, the door slid aside, and Weave mentally cheered when he saw the dark-haired, feminine figure seated at the desk within.

A familiar officer wearing a _kama_ and the crimson-splashed armor of the Corrie Guards was seated across from her, and he glanced up as Weave was brought into the room. The officer's head tilted, and Weave caught sight of a bruise on his chin, which confirmed his analysis. So _this _was Officer Kark-head. Well, at least he had a real name. Trax would probably get a kick out of the fact that Milo had decked such a decorated officer.

"Here he is, General," Commander Fox said, glancing at the Jedi with no small amount of satisfaction on his face. "I apologize for the delay, sir."

_He's apologizing to her? _Weave thought, working to keep his expression neutral. _Wow. Must be nice to be a Jedi. _

Kalinda did not stand, nor turn. Fox gestured to his men, who brought Weave before her. Her dark eyes swept across him once, then she frowned. "Why is he bound?"

Her voice was cool and rang out sharply against the walls of the small office. Commander Fox's bruised jaw went tight as he nodded to one of his men, who began to undo the cuffs at Weave's wrists. "Standard security measure, sir."

"Sergeant," Kalinda said, ignoring Fox, "are you injured?"

Her posture and mannerisms were wholly professional, even cold, but the tone of her voice gave her away, at least to Weave, who knew her well enough to discern the worry in her words. Playing along, he gave the sharpest salute he could manage. "I'm fine, General Halcyon."

"The others?"

"Also fine, sir." Weave slanted a look at the men who'd brought him in. "But we are all anxious to be back under your command."

Kalinda's gaze darted to Fox. "Is it safe to return my men and their equipment, Commander? Do you need to detain them any longer?"

"No, sir," Fox said, nodding to his men, who saluted and began to file out of the room. "I'll have them and their kits brought to the atrium. All of this was simply a security measure, you understand."

"Thank you." Kalinda said nothing for a moment, simply regarded him long enough to make him shift his feet. At last, she spoke, her voice soft and far too steady. "What of Captain Stonewall and the clone Milo? I was informed they were sent to Kamino."

Fox cleared his throat. "Orders were to arrest CC-3077. The other fellow..." His hand lifted to touch his jaw. "The other fellow attacked an officer, so he was sent along as well. We can't afford those kinds of troublemakers here, sir."

"Of course not," Kalinda replied easily, nodding once. "Your quick action was commendable. I only wish I could have been present for the arrest." She sat up, presenting the picture of an ideal Jedi general, and regarded Fox. "Tell me, on whose orders was the captain arrested?"

Fox's brow furrowed. "You don't know, sir?"

Weave's heart began to race, but he kept his cool as he studied his Jedi. She had not asked _why; _she had asked _whom._ _She knows why they took him, and I'd bet my last hypo it's got something to do with what he did in the rec-room. _

Kalinda also remained calm, only shook her head once. "I've been tied up in the Council chambers all day, I'm afraid," she said with a sigh. "And – as far as I know – Captain Stonewall has done nothing to warrant such extreme discipline."

Commander Fox sat at his desk, pulled up a datapad, and began scrolling through it. As his attention was diverted, Kalinda took the opportunity to glance at Weave, and now he saw the full extent of her worry. _Are you okay?_ she mouthed at him.

He nodded quickly. _We all are. _

"Ah, here we go," Commander Fox said, drawing both Kalinda and Weave's glances. Fox frowned over his 'pad, thumbing through the data, then shook his head once. "I'm sorry, sir, it says the status of CC-3077 is classified, as is the origin of the arrest warrant."

"How strange," Kalinda said. "I suppose I'll have to ask Mace about it." She slanted Fox an admirable look of mock-annoyance. "On top of everything else, _now _I'll have to train a new captain. Who has the time for that?"

"Welcome to the GAR, sir," Fox replied wryly, then caught himself and straightened his shoulders. "If there's nothing else..."

Kalinda considered, then shook her head. She rose and nodded to Weave, and they both crossed the office to the door, where Fox stood. Just as the Jedi set foot in the doorway, she snapped her fingers and looked at the commander. "Captain Stonewall and Milo's armor and weapons...will it all be returned with the others'?"

_Odd_, Weave thought, though he said nothing._ What does she want with the captain's kit? Sentimental value, maybe?_

Fox's brow furrowed, but he nodded once. "It can be arranged, sir."

"Great, thank you." Kalinda gave a graceful bow and slipped out the door, Weave at her heels. He wanted to take off running, just to put this place behind him, but she walked calmly, as if she didn't have a care in the void. When he cast her a curious look, she gave a tiny frown, but said nothing and looked ahead. Weave found his patience tested again.

They entered a turbolift and stood for a moment until Kalinda cleared her throat. "The atrium is level two, I believe," she said, arching her brow and nodding to the 'lift panel. "Sergeant."

Her eyes, though, flickered to some place above his head, and he remembered the security cams. Obviously they were not done feigning professionalism."Right, sir."

Weave activated the 'lift panel and the floor began to vibrate beneath their feet. A soft exhale met his ears, and Weave glanced at his Jedi again and noted the tension of her entire body, tension that she seemed to actively try to keep at bay. Her breathing was deliberately measured, her hands clenched and relaxed at her sides, and her eyes took on that glassy, far-away look they got when she accessed the Force. She looked like she was looking for something...

He had a feeling he knew. Of course she'd want to go looking for Stonewall, though that would mean a trip to Kamino, a place he was in no hurry to return to. However, Weave was not about to let her – or any of his _vod _– go off without him there to help. Force knew what kind of trouble the lot of them would get into without him to keep an eye on their _shebse_.

It would mean going AWOL, of course. The thought should have bothered him more than it did, but the sight of his captain and Milo being dragged off by the Corrie Guards was fresh in his mind, and though he had a theory, he still didn't know exactly _why _Stonewall had been arrested. All he knew was that one of the most capable officers he'd ever worked with had been stunned and dragged off without a word as to _why. _How quickly fortunes could sour.

Beside him, Kalinda Halcyon exhaled and ducked her head, her shoulders slumping in a way that sang out _defeat. _

The 'lift paused and the doors opened onto the atrium level of the Guard barracks. The area was chock-full of clone troopers and various military personnel, but Weave didn't see Crest or Trax, and he wondered if Fox would keep his word. Kalinda strode into the sea of clone armor without hesitation, and Weave followed, noting how a few clones cast curious glances at the petite dark-haired Jedi with the very obvious limp.

For a moment he wondered where they were going, then her steps quickened and he caught sight of two familiar, very welcome faces. Crest and Traxis emerged from a door at the far side of the room, fully kitted up and scanning the area; Trax even wore his medic-pack and carried a large duffel bag which Weave thought contained Stonewall and Milo's kits – and hopefully his as well. Crest spotted them first. He nudged Traxis and the two of them made to dart over, but Weave gave a slight shake of his head. Both of the other men seemed to catch on, for they stood at parade-rest and waited for their general.

Kalinda approached them but did not stop. Instead, she indicated that they follow, and the three clones fell into step behind her. Weave, as the most senior clone present, kept a pace behind her to her right, while Crest and Trax flanked them once Trax handed over his medic-pack. Weave sighed happily as the familiar weight settled over his shoulders and back; all he needed now was his armor and he'd be good as new.

The Jedi's steps were rapid now, to a degree. Her limp slowed her down, but the members of Shadow Squad were used to moderating their strides to match hers. She didn't say a word until the group exited the barracks' entrance and stepped onto the wide platform and the encroaching night.

The moment they were clear of the building, she let out a long breath. "Holy kriffing hell, that was lucky."

"What do you mean, Boss?" Crest asked, his helmet tilting as he walked.

"Yeah," Trax said, a scowl in his voice. "It's hard to think any of today has been 'lucky.'"

Kalinda indicated an airspeeder across the platform, and they began to head for it as she explained. "You should know that it's much easier to spring the three of you from a detention cell than to check out a kriffing speeder."

"Well, shucks," Crest said wryly. "Now I feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

"At least," her words darkened, "that's the case when you're a Jedi Knight who's on probation and has been recalled from active duty."

"Probation?" Crest exclaimed. "Why the kriff are you on... Oh."

Traxis' voice was a low growl. "They found out about the captain, didn't they?"

Kalinda shot him a wary look. "About our relationship, yes."

Something about the exchange was off, but there wasn't time to speculate. Traxis punched the flat of his left hand with his right fist. "So, when do we spring him and Milo from the long-necks?"

The dark-haired Jedi blanched and her steps faltered as she paused and looked between the three remaining members of Shadow Squad. "You can't risk yourselves–"

"With respect, General," Traxis said, stopping beside her and pulling off his bucket to meet her eyes. "We karking well can."

Crest tugged off his helmet as well; the four of them stood on the duracrete platform, illuminated by the city-planet's ubiquitous lights. Crest put a hand on her shoulder, drawing her eyes. "We're with you, Boss," he said gently, squeezing once. "For better or for worse. Hopefully better."

Weave thumbed the direction of the speeder. "Either way, we should keep moving."

Kalinda looked between the three of them, her dark eyes wide, and if Weave didn't know any better, he'd have thought he saw her eyes get bright as if with unshed tears. However, before she could speak, an all-too-familiar voice rose up behind them.

"General Halcyon," Commander Fox called from the entrance to the barracks. "I need to speak with you." There was a grim certainty behind his words, and the presence of half a dozen armed clones flanking him indicated that he didn't want to have a friendly chinwag.

"Hey, look," Crest said, grinning. "It's Officer Kark-head. I guess he missed us."

"I think he goes by, 'Commander Fox,'" Weave corrected.

"I'm afraid there's been a mistake, sir." The commander and his Guards drew closer. "We've orders to return you to the Temple."

Kalinda's jaw tightened and she glanced between the three of them. "This is the point of no return," she said in Mando'a, so softly that Weave almost missed her words. "There's no shame in staying behind."

Traxis shifted his duffel bag over his shoulder and straightened his spine. "We've got your six, General. We can handle these _di'kutle_."

"Yep," Crest said, shoving his bucket on his head. "Lead the way, Boss. We're on your side."

Weave met Kalinda's eyes and noted the question within them. He made sure his answer was firm. "One-hundred percent."

She nodded, took a breath, and turned, slowly, to face Fox and his men. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, far away from her lightsaber, but she had that distant look in her eyes again, the one that meant she was reaching for the Force. Maybe it was his imagination, but Weave thought the atmosphere around the group started to feel a little heavier, like a bolo-ball that had been placed at the center of a lifted blanket. Everything around seemed to pull toward one point: the dark-haired woman who met Fox's T-visor with her own blank stare.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Commander." Her voice was unnaturally steady. Her hands flexed, and the rush of energy in his ears alerted Weave to what was about to happen.

"Now," he called to Crest and Traxis. Neither man carried his blaster – it was against regs to walk around with a loaded deece within the barracks, unless you had prior authorization – but they had the element of surprise on their side. Not to mention the Force.

The Jedi lifted her hands and sent Fox and four of his men tumbling backwards, the action reminding Weave far too much of what the captain had done earlier. The other two kept their feet and lunged for the Jedi, but Crest and Traxis were ready, and met the Corrie Guards head-on. Literally. They ducked their heads and pummeled into the Guards, the resounding _smack _of plastoid against plastoid echoing in the evening air. The two Guards stumbled back, disoriented.

Weave had already grabbed the gear bags Trax carried, so the four of them seized the opportunity and rushed across the platform toward the airspeeder. Something whirred past his head – a stun bolt. Weave shot a harried glance over his shoulder and saw that Fox and his men had regained their footing almost at once, and were in hot pursuit. Another stun bolt streaked by. He looked ahead, gritted his teeth, and, on a whim, grabbed Kalinda's arm to help her along, faster. Luckily, she didn't need assistance now; her steps were fast and smooth, probably Force-aided.

Thank the stars, the close-topped speeder was large enough to accommodate all four of them, though it was a tight fit. Kalinda slid in the driver's seat while Weave sat beside her, with Crest and Trax in the rear. Plasma bolts, bright blue against the darkness, streaked beside the windows, their size and shape indicating they were true shots and not stunning bolts.

As the Jedi revved the engine, Traxis withdrew a blaster and made to pop out the window and return fire, but Kalinda stopped him. "Don't shoot them."

"Better them than _us_."

"Fine, but don't hurt anyone, civilian or otherwise," she amended as the speeder lifted up, into the lanes of traffic above their heads. "Only slow them down; they're your brothers, after all."

Leaning out the airspeeder's open window, Traxis lobbed off a round of carefully aimed bolts at the barracks' landing platform, where Fox and his men were swarming into their own speeders. "They stopped being my brothers the minute they carted Stonewall and Milo away," the scarred clone growled. "Just get us the fek out of here."

"I think that's the plan, Trax," Crest called, also leaning over the edge, his own blaster pointed at their rear. Kalinda gunned the speeder's engines again in an effort to make the most of what few moments' head start they'd achieved.

Weave's stomach plummeted down as the speeder shot _up, _and he wished he'd had time to replace his kit, but that was out of the question now. Another round of blaster-bolts whizzed by his window and made him duck on instinct, even as Trax and Crest both returned fire. The speeder veered to the side, causing his temple to smack against the door frame in the process. Kriff, he should at least get a bucket on his head. With that thought, he unzipped the nearest duffel bag, which as it happened contained Stonewall's kit.

_Sorry sir, _Weave thought as he dug around for the captain's helmet. _Hopefully you won't mind..._

His fingertips brushed the captain's bucket, but that wasn't what gave him pause. No, it was the familiar metallic cylinder of a lightsaber, gleaming quietly from its place folded in Stonewall's _kama. _

"Boss...look out!" Crest called, jerking Weave's attention away from his discovery. He glanced up in time to see two things: Kalinda's dark eyes on him, wide with fear, and a massive public transport, bearing down upon them from the opposite lane.

The Jedi faced forward and tilted the steering yoke. Hard. "Kriff! Hang on, guys!"

The speeder flipped upside-down, and Weave's vision went right along with it.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter **very lightly** alludes to two stories posted on my AO3 account: _Teyr_ and _Wayfarer_ _I._ The allusions are of a romantic nature, and occur between two males – sort of unrequited love.

If you have not read either fic, you will not miss anything relevant to this story. If you HAVE read them, your angst-meters will be going haywire. ;)

But first, more airspeeder antics!

Lyrics: "Halcyon," by Ellie Goulding, from same.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_I know you're a fighter,_

_But you never fought for me,_

_When I was a shelter, _

_'Cause you're not heading home to me._

_We could be closer._

_We could be closer._

_We could be..._

Normally, Crest didn't mind fast flying, but this little jaunt was pushing him well past his comfort-zone. He'd never liked the flying sims back on Kamino, and had always been happy to let another brother pilot whatever vessel Shadow Squad had been aboard. Thank the Force, he and Trax had managed to duck back inside before the general's barrel-roll, so they weren't tossed out the windows and to certain doom. That would be bad. Hence the "certain doom" part.

"For fek's sake," Traxis yelled. "Kriffing watch where you're going!"

"I can pull over if you want to drive, Trax," the boss called back.

Crest shoved Trax's shoulder. "_Udesii_, _vod. _Cool your jets! The unfriendlies are out _there_, remember?"

He didn't miss the way Kalinda frowned at his words, but she said nothing as she veered the speeder between a line of oncoming vehicles, which, in retrospect, Crest should not have looked at. His stomach dropped at the sight, and again when their vehicle dropped down, down, down, faster than any of the other airspeeders around. Before he could protest, she flipped the speeder again, doing a nifty double barrel-roll that he would have happily appreciated from solid ground.

The advantage to all of the stomach-turning acrobatics was that the blaster-bolts of their pursuers had ceased. After several more flips and twirls, their Jedi wove the speeder through a line of traffic controllers, then darted between several bulky buildings.

Once they were within the shadows, she switched off the exterior lights and eased the vehicle to a standstill, then glanced at Weave, who now wore the captain's bucket. "We have a problem."

"Kriffing understatement of the year," Trax muttered.

If she heard him, she made no indication of it. "We can outrun their speeders, but we can't outrun a limpet."

Trax frowned and Crest scratched his head. "What the frag's a limpet?"

But Weave nodded and pulled off the captain's bucket, brandishing it as he replied. "Limpets are vehicular tracking devices. Our helmets are equipped with something similar."

"Can you deactivate those?" Kalinda asked, twisting to peer out the window, into the shadows that surrounded them. Even at night, Corrie was only truly dark in bits and pieces, like here in the shelter of whatever building they were beside.

Weave nodded again and began to rummage through his medic-pack, stowed between his legs. "Yeah, but I'll need a few minutes. Hopefully my all-tool kit's in here..."

"There's one of these limp-things on this speeder?" Crest asked, peering out his window. Surely any moment Fox and his cronies would come screaming out from behind one of the buildings.

"Yes. They're generally on the undercarriage," Kalinda replied. "I think I can reach it from my seat..."

"_You_ need to fly us," Traxis said. "We need those fancy Jedi-moves of yours to avoid Commander Foxy-Kark and his men."

"And I need to work on the buckets," Weave added. "Hand 'em over, _vode."_

_Well, fek_. That only left two options. After they tossed their helmets to Weave, Crest and Traxis exchanged looks. "Not it," Crest said quickly, causing Trax to roll his eyes.

Where she normally - probably - would have chuckled, now Kalinda's gaze sharpened as she glanced between them. "Actually, Crest, I think the limpet is on your side, so it might be easier for you to–"

Her words were cut off by a streak of electric-blue bolts whizzing past them. Either Foxy's men were terrible shots, or they were just trying to get the fugitives' attentions. Maybe some of both. Without hesitation, the boss faced forward and revved the airspeeder's engines again, flipped on the lights, and urged the vehicle up, towards a steady line of traffic.

"I can keep them off our tails, but you guys need to get rid of that karking limpet," she called over the whine of the engines.

"It should be a flattish, roundish device, probably beside the left nacelle," Weave added, bent over Trax's bucket with his all-tool kit.

Crest fought back a surge of motion-sickness as the airspeeder zoomed upward, and turned for the open window. Sticking his head out – carefully – he grimaced at the endless, endless line of airspeeders below, and the veritable kaleidoscope of lights and neon signs that decorated this part of the world. This was not going to be fun. Wind whipped at his bare skull, sending chills throughout his body, and as he ducked back inside, he prayed he wouldn't puke everywhere.

He glanced at Trax, who'd moved closer to offer assistance, and began to babble. "Look, _vod, _if I don't make it, tell everyone I died bravely. And leave out the puking. If there is any, I mean. You never know what the future holds, and mine's not looking pretty–"

"We're not getting any younger, Baldy," Trax broke in. "Shut the fek up and get to work down there."

Despite his nerves, Crest snickered. "Ah, I'll bet you say that to all the guys."

The resulting cuff he got from his scarred brother didn't help anything, not really, but it gave him something else to think about, which made him feel a tiny bit better. Good old Trax.

Swallowing hard, Crest turned back to the open window, took a deep breath, and pulled his torso through, taking care to grip the window's edge tightly. Even through the protective shell of his armor, the wind's blast was brutal, and he wished he had his bucket to help regulate the air temp, as well as give him that much more _something _between his face and the fardling void of Corrie. The dark, flat sky held no stars, but there were plenty of artificial lights tucked in the surrounding buildings, all of which meant it was impossible to keep his sense of _up _and _down. _A few blaster-bolts streaked through his field of vision, but the boss dodged them, though the resulting swerve made his guts twist and his grip tighten.

Now seated on the window's edge, Crest shifted his grip to the topmost portion and glanced down at his scarred _vod. _"Trax?"

Two hands grabbed his belt, holding strong. "I've got you, Crest," Trax called through the screaming wind.

His gruff voice was oddly reassuring, and Crest nodded once. "Alright. I'm going down."

A lewd joke naturally came to mind, but his throat suddenly was too dry to form the words, so he tucked the thought away for later. Assuming there'd be a later...

_Nope. Don't think about that osik, _he told himself. _Mind on the mission, soldier. _He took a breath to gather his nerves and decided to think of the limpet as just another det he had to extract. He'd had _tons _of experience in that area, though nothing quite like this. But he was a fekking clone, and could handle this situation.

Confidence somewhat bolstered, he shifted his body so that his stomach-plate lay across the lower edge of the window, and began to work his way down the airspeeder's side. Wind rushed past him, the whistling broken only by an occasional vehicular buzz, but he was able to ignore all of it and focus. Trax's grip was secure, and Crest trusted his _vod _to keep him safe, despite all the jokes he made at Trax's expense. _If that's not a true brother, I don't know what is._

Inch-by-inch, he walked his hands toward the speeder's undercarriage, pulling himself farther and farther out of the window with each eternal moment. The slow pace helped him acclimate to being upside-down, and thankfully there were a few secure mechanical-things to grip once he truly reached the airspeeder's underbelly. He deliberately did not look at any of the vehicles whizzing beneath – or above? – his head, nor the buildings that stretched around on all sides.

Things got a little dicey when a hail of electric-blue plasma bolts rained on either side of the vehicle, then the whole world tilted and he was right-side up, all of a sudden leaning over an overturned airspeeder. He caught the startled glance of a Rodian on a swoop about ten meters away, then the boss righted their vehicle and he was once more beneath the kriffing thing.

"You alright, Baldy?" Traxis' voice sounded high and thin through the wind.

_Fek, fek, fekkity fek. _Crest's throat was dry and he was dizzy from all the flipping, so he knew his own voice wouldn't be much better. But the thought of Trax worrying about him gave him a weird kind of surety. "One-hundred-percent," he called back. "Just another day on the job, you know?"

With that, Crest tightened his grip on whatever mechanical thingy he held, and began to search for the limpet. For a few tense moments he didn't see a damn thing that fit Weave's vague description, and panic set in. Then, thank the stars and moons and asteroids, he caught sight of the tiny, flat device tucked behind some bulky mechanical thing he didn't recognize. That was good.

What wasn't so good was that the limpet was juuuust out of his reach. _Osik. _

Still hanging on tight, he twisted his head around. "Trax?"

"Crest?"

More blaster-bolts zoomed by his head, though thankfully the speeder didn't swerve overmuch. Still, Crest really wished he could fly. "I can't reach the limp-thing. I need about two inches. And no comments from the warra-nut gallery."

There was a beat of silence, and had it not been for Trax's grip on his belt, Crest would have sworn he was alone. Not a pleasant thought with the city-planet stretched over his head. Or below. _Whatever_.

At last, he heard Trax's voice again, yelling over the wind. "Kalinda has a plan. She says hang on."

"Wait...what?"

There was no response. Instead, the crinking speeder flipped upside-down again, putting Crest right-side up, with a flat, easy-to-maneuver-across undercarriage before him as it had been moments ago. _Ah, well that makes life a bit easier._

Then Trax's comforting grip disappeared, and Crest _knew_ he was going to puke. "I have to let go for a second, to give you those inches," Trax yelled. "So move your _shebs!" _

_Don't have to tell me twice. _Tucking into a crouch, Crest scrambled across the undercarriage, heart pounding and sweating buckets despite the cold battery of wind. The limpet blinked quietly, oblivious to the trouble it was causing, and Crest was a glad he got to destroy the karking thing. Kneeling, he began to wrench it free of its home, silently cursing its maker and manufacturer. As he worked, two speeders streaked by, their occupants clearly dumbfounded at the sight of an upside-down airspeeder being vandalized by a bald-headed clone trooper.

_The Republic's finest, hard at work,_ he thought grimly as he pried the limpet loose. Luckily it wasn't bolted to the undercarriage, but rather attached with a series of plastoid clips, soft and pliable from being close to the heat of the engine.

Manufacturing defect? Maybe he'd been too harsh before...

He had another stroke of luck when the limpet came off in one piece, so he flung it away, toward the fathomless line of traffic below, and eagerly turned back the way he'd come. Just as he reached the undercarriage's edge, another stream of blaster-fire passed by, too close. Much too close. The speeder rocked and Crest automatically flattened himself against the metallic bits and pieces of the vehicle's underbelly.

More shots were fired, though it seemed the boss was able to avoid being hit while flying upside-down, though how long _that _would last, he had no kriffing clue. He had to get back to the window. Steeling himself not to look anywhere but the next place for his hands, Crest began to inch his way back to the undercarriage's edge. Beneath his body, the vehicle thrummed, each sensation seeming to rattle right through his armor and into his very bones. The scents of hot metal and ozone filled his nose, and his breaths grew increasingly shallow. More bolts streaked by, and this time he caught a glimpse of white and crimson armor in the corner of his eyes, which meant that Commander Fox and his cronies were on their fragging _shebse. _

_Something tells me this isn't going to end well. _

"Come on, _vod_!" Traxis' arms waved ahead, flailing out in an effort to reach Crest, but he couldn't close the distance. Those karking two inches. If only Jango had been a little taller...

A bolt slammed against the speeder's nose, jarring the entire thing and causing Crest to slide along as the vehicle pitched to the left. Another bolt landed, this one right beside his cheek, and sent a shower of sparks over his skin. Pained and startled, Crest's careful grip was dislodged and the next thing he knew, there was nothing surrounding him but empty, empty air.

Crest fell. It was only a second, but it felt like a lifetime.

Then, it was as if someone had shoved a blanket or tarp beneath him, like he'd been caught mid-air by something solid and wonderful. He'd gotten his wish; he was...flying, somehow, in tandem with the airspeeder's course. Right-side up now, the speeder slipped through a cloud of steam exhaled from some manufacturing plant or another, taking him right along with it. A few moments later, he twisted around to watch as the Corrie Guards' speeders passed above his head, and he realized he'd not only accomplished his task, but lived to make fun of Trax another day.

"Crest!"

Still floating, he glanced down; the boss' head was sticking out of the driver's window, her eyes on him, her hands outstretched. The moment he looked at her, a relieved smile broke over her face, and she made a beckoning gesture that drew him closer. About a minute later he was guided to the window's edge, where Traxis helped him work his way back inside, and soon he sat upon his seat again, and had it not been for his panting breath, it was like none of that crazy _osik _had just happened.

Weave had the controls, nearly in their Jedi general's seat; evidently she'd made him drive while she did her Force-thing. "Are you okay?" she asked.

His body buzzed with adrenaline, his face was raw from the bite of wind, and he needed a clean body-glove. But he was alive. _Thank the Force, indeed. _

"Never better," he managed.

Traxis slapped his back affectionately, then glanced at their Jedi. "We need to keep moving; Fox's men will find us eventually. Is there somewhere safe we can regroup?"

"Preferably somewhere with a floor," Crest added.

The Jedi nodded and glanced at Weave, who'd returned to his seat. "Did you get the buckets figured out?"

"Yeah, we're all set. As far as the GAR is concerned, Shadow Squad just went off the grid. There's just one more loose end..." Weave took a deep breath before reaching into one of the duffel bags, withdrawing a recognizable sort of weapon, though the hilt itself was not familiar.

Crest did not miss the way Trax's body stilled, nor the fact that Kalinda's face paled as the medic offered the lightsaber to her. "This was with Stonewall's kit," Weave said in his calm medic-voice. "Mind telling us what's really going on, General?"

* * *

_Approximately two weeks earlier..._

Before he stepped outside the house, Captain Stonewall removed his bucket, exhaled, and reached out with his senses. Where the Force had once felt like a barrage of impressions, time and training had provided him the means to sift through the information overload and focus only on what mattered. Now, for example, he could sense the emotions of everyone in his immediate area: Trax's determination to come out of this alive; Kali's concern for their young package; the overwhelming fear from said package, an Iktotchi youngling about a year and a half old.

Another inhale helped Stonewall gather his strength, then set the awareness of those emotions aside. They were useful to understand, but not pertinent for this exact moment. He did not need to know what lay behind him; he needed to know what lay ahead, in waiting.

It was high summer in this part of Balasi. The humid air coated his throat, making each breath akin to taking a drink of tepid water, but he found it easier to access the Force without his helmet. Heat rippled the air around the little shack where they'd found the kidnapped youngling, and aphrens buzzed around his head like airspeeders during Coruscanti rush-hour. Despite the shack's proximity to a broad, flat marsh, there was little breeze to speak of, and beads of sweat trickled down his temple to cling to his eyebrows.

The Outer Rim world was sparsely populated in all but a few areas. What wasn't fetid swamp was desert or tundra, or frothing oceans. Balasi had no strategic value, no unique resources to speak of, no special place along the galaxy's hyperlanes. Though he knew it was more complicated than he realized, as far as Stonewall was concerned, Balasi's only defining feature seemed to be its inhospitable nature. Certainly he'd grown acquainted with it well-enough over the past tenday.

Stonewall exhaled again, and assessed the surrounding area, searching for unfriendlies. As was his custom, he had one of his blaster-pistols drawn, though there was a new, constant weight at his hip, below his _kama. _A lightsaber. Of all things...

Well, at least he knew how to use it. Thankfully, he'd picked up on the mechanics of lightsaber combat fairly quickly, though that was mostly due to long hours training with vibroswords as a cadet on Kamino. Clones, especially command-units, were taught to use a wide variety of weapons.

Other than the aphrens, the only living creatures he found were a pair of indigo snakes hiding in the tall grasses and a single Balasian alligator idly watching his movements from afar. Other than that, it was just hot and humid, and he was ready to be gone from this place.

Stonewall let out a relieved breath and glanced behind him, where Traxis stood a few paces inside the door, blaster-rifle raised. "We're clear."

Trax's helmet tilted, the blank T-visor casting Stonewall's reflection back at him. "You didn't scan for life-signs?"

_Fek. _Only a few people knew of Stonewall's new Force-abilities, and Traxis was not one of them. It was better this way. As the lover of their Jedi general, Stonewall knew he was too different as it was, and had no wish to set himself further apart from his men than he already had.

And of course, only he and Kali knew of their child. It was still so new, so fantastic, that he still didn't quite believe it was real unless he immersed himself in the Force and reached out to sense the life growing within the woman he loved.

In response to Trax's words, he shoved his bucket over his head. "Sometimes it's better to see with your own eyes."

"Right." There was skepticism in Trax's tone, but no argument. He indicated behind him, where Stonewall Kali sat on an overturned crate, rocking the youngling. "She finally got the _ad'ika_ to settle down – just in time for us to move out. Figures."

"With any luck, we'll have him back to his father soon," Stonewall replied. He sent a gentle prod to Kali through the Force, and she lifted her eyes to his. Even before he'd gotten true access to the Force, they'd been able to speak without words, just using their emotional connection. Somehow. He still wasn't quite sure how it all worked.

_The coast is clear, _he told her through their bond. _How is the little guy?_

Kali smiled down at the child, the son of a prominent Iktotchi diplomat who'd been taken hostage by Seps. Omree Taro was a fat little fellow with two tiny buds where his curving horns would be one day, and he _fit_ in her arms, belonged there, in a way. Not that Stonewall wanted to keep the youngling, but the sight of Kali cradling a child resonated strongly within him, and he felt a fierce flare of protective energy for the both of them as Kali got to her feet, rubbing the child's back.

_He's a little better, _she replied. _Still scared, but very tired. And interested in you and Trax._

Stonewall frowned. _You can tell _all _of that through the Force?_

She gave the equivalent of a mental shrug. _Most of it, yes. Omree's abilities are not nearly as finely-tuned as his dad's, but you guys are definitely making an impression. _Iktotchi were telepathic, to a degree, so Kali had been trying to sooth him both with words and with ripples of comforting Force-energy. The poor kid was terrified, so it'd taken almost all of her efforts to do so, which left Stonewall and Trax to ensure the area was safe.

_Nice to have a fan-club. _Stonewall adjusted his grip on his pistol and spoke through his external mic, taking pains to keep his voice gentle and not disturb the child needlessly. "Ready to head out?"

"Yes," she said. "I think I can even coax him to keep quiet for the next part of our plan."

So far, the mission had been rough, no doubt, but hopefully they were nearing the figurative finish line. Milo, Weave and Crest had reportedly kept the bulk of the Separatist terrorists busy in the main city of Caprin, but Kali thought there was something amiss about this place, and Stonewall was inclined to agree with her. While the others kept the Seppie kidnappers busy, Kali, Stonewall and Traxis had sought out the youngling, following a trail of the poor kid's fear in the Force, like footprints on sand. There'd only been one nursemaid droid out here, which Trax had taken the pleasure of demolishing.

"Copy that," Stonewall replied, nodding once to Trax, who lifted his weapon and crouched into a ready-stance. "I'll go first and make sure the way to our swoops is clear. Trax, cover me."

"Understood." Trax's voice was clipped, his body tense and waiting to spring into action. Stonewall always felt better knowing his scarred brother was watching his six.

Now, the captain stepped completely outside the shack, every sense alert. The HUD of his helmet fed him a steady stream of data about the area – temperature, air pressure, gases and potential toxins in the atmosphere – and a small corner of the screen showed him the vital signs of each of his men. The rest of Shadow Squad's heart rates were high; likely they were in a hot zone. But they hadn't comm'd so he had to trust they were okay. When his group was on the way back to town, he would call Weave for a sitrep.

He took a step down and planted his boots on the dirt, still searching. The buzz of aphrens seemed a little louder out here in the open, but other than that, nothing was outwardly wrong. But something niggled at him. Something wasn't _right. _He took three more steps and looked up.

A vapor trail stood out against the endless blue, and ice bloomed through his veins. A missile. _Kriff. _He whirled back to the house, where Trax stood just outside the doorway, Kali a step behind. "Incoming projectile," Stonewall called. "Clear the area!"

Immediately, Trax reached back to the Jedi, drawing her and the Iktotchi youngling past him and through the doorway. The poor kid screamed and wriggled in Kali's arms as she struggled to keep him from falling. For a baby, Omree seemed pretty strong. Stonewall felt his fear through the Force, a barrage of emotions that would have once incapacitated him, but not any longer.

Traxis followed her; the three of them began to race across the dirt, toward the grassy area where they'd left their swoops. Kali held Omree close and Stonewall felt her gather the Force to her as she ran, both to keep the child still and to aid her movements so she could run without limping. He tried to bolster her with his own Force-abilities and a hand on her arm. They reached the edge of the marsh, but there was no time to find a dry path across; they sloshed into the knee-high water and struggled for the sandy shore, beyond which lay the tall, yellow marsh-grass and their swoops.

Behind them, the missile reached the little shack perhaps twenty seconds after Stonewall had first noticed it. Shards of wood and glass exploded from the point of contact. A shock-wave rolled after the group, shoving them to their knees in the brackish water while the remains of the shack clattered on all sides.

Kali didn't wear armor. It was one of the few sore points between her and Stonewall, who could not understand why she felt the need to run around in only the flimsy robes of the Jedi Order with no protection to speak of. She had her Force-shield, but all of her attention was taken up with the child, and he knew she couldn't manage it right now. Without thinking, he threw himself over her and Omree, hoping to shelter the two of them from the falling debris. A few splinters bounced off his armored back, but they fell harmlessly to the side, and a strange kind of satisfaction filled him. He'd protected her when she could not do the same.

The moment did not last.

"_Fek_!" Trax had gotten to his feet, and was now pointing ahead with the muzzle of his blaster. "Look sharp, Stonewall! Fragging tinnies, incoming."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did the incoming droids start to fire. Stonewall uncurled from Kali and Omree and darted forward, keeping his body between them and the approaching droids. There were two dozen, older-model SBDs, common towards the start of the Wars but not so much now. Rows of red blaster-bolts streamed out from their wrists as they advanced, marching through the marsh, unhindered by water or mud as they flanked the Republic group.

Traxis immediately began to return fire, as did Stonewall, but they were only two. Even if Kali had been able to use her lightsaber or her blaster, the odds were still not good. Three droids were felled, but the remaining twenty-one continued to advance. Ducking to avoid shots, Stonewall and Traxis backed up to Kali and the youngling, using their armored bodies to shield the Jedi and her charge.

Stonewall inhaled and the world came into focus. Time slowed. Every crimson bolt seemed clearly defined against the blue sky, and he found he could duck to avoid most of them with ease. A few seared the edges of his armor, but did little more than sting. Beneath his chest-plate, his heartbeat seemed casual, like he was out for a stroll. He downed one of the droids with a well-aimed shot at its photoreceptors and glanced beside him.

In sharp contrast to his own strange calm, Traxis was a roil of fury and fear, the emotions surfacing with each fire of his rifle, each hurled swear. He was afraid; for Kali and the child, for Stonewall. Not for himself. Never himself.

Kali crouched in the water, and he could feel her gathering the Force to her as if about to throw up her shield, but she was tired and her inner resources were drained from the mission. And even if she could hide them for a few moments, it would only serve as a temporary reprieve.

He turned back to the droids, and a familiar weight tugged at his hip. There was no time to consider the repercussions, which wouldn't make a kriff of difference anyway if they all died, so in one motion he holstered his pistol, withdrew and activated the lightsaber. Even against the sky it glowed brilliantly, and the hum was a comfort. The hilt was smaller than he would have preferred – it had not been built for his hands – but it sufficed. Besides, he would not have wanted any other weapon.

Time had slowed, but seemed of little consequence any longer. Stonewall leaped for the nearest droid, slicing its torso in half without a thought. He gathered the Force again and turned for the next clanker; this one toppled over when its limbs were cut away. Another was lifted and pulled close to receive a blow to the chest, where its main control relays were located.

To Trax's credit, he did not stop shooting once, but the other clone's shock rippled at the edges of Stonewall's awareness. Once Stonewall had taken out a good half-dozen of the droids, more blaster-bolts joined Trax's; Kali had withdrawn her trusty LL-30, adding its high-pitched song to the melody of dying clankers. Determination replaced the fear, along with awe and love, and Stonewall grinned despite himself. The Force sang through his blood like starlight streaking through the black, and he savored the feeling.

The fight lasted about five minutes. When the last droid was downed by a bifurcating blow to the torso, Stonewall deactivated the lightsaber and surveyed the pile of dead tinnies with satisfaction. He'd managed to keep relatively near the others, so when he looked up to ensure they were all unharmed, he found he was just a few paces away from Kali and Omree. They both were dripping wet and muddy, but unharmed, and the Iktotchi youngling gaped at Stonewall, fear forgotten.

Kali looked at Stonewall, then at Traxis, who stood close, a few inches short of an arm's length. The scarred clone had removed his helmet, and now stared at his captain like Stonewall had...

Well, like he'd just whipped out a Jedi-weapon and used the Force.

_Fek_. Not sure what to say, Stonewall stowed the lightsaber beneath his _kama_, then cast his _vod _a chagrined look that would not be seen with his bucket still on.

But the other clone shook his head, a scowl cutting across his face and distorting the scar that ribboned from his temple down past his neck. Waves of confusion, hurt and – worst of all – distrust, had joined the fury and the fear, and they were all directed at Stonewall.

"_Vod_..."

Trax's face darkened further, and he shook his head. "_Fek_ you," he muttered, and shoved past the captain. "Come on," he said, louder, in a voice meant to reach Kali. "We should keep moving. Kriff knows what other _osik_ is out there."

* * *

_The following evening..._

The mission was over. The Iktotchi kid was reunited with his _buir_, and Shadow Squad was probably in line for a commendation. Everyone was tired, but relieved, and the diplomat had arranged a huge dinner to be provided for the Republic group, to thank them in some small way for their hard work. Weave, Milo and Crest had done an admirable job keeping the Sep terrorists busy in the town of Caprin, and of course the child was unharmed, now safe in his dad's arms. There was a lot to celebrate.

But Traxis did not feel like celebrating.

He stood outside of the diplomat's home, leaning against the sandstone railing as he studied the moons. There were three. Two appeared to be the size of his thumbnail should he have held it up to compare, while the third was small, barely wider than the tip of his pinky. The sky was overcast but the cloud cover was erratic, pushed across the dome by fierce, upper-level winds while the moons danced in and out of the shifting clouds.

Behind him, the dinner was winding down. It was a quiet affair, just the diplomat, his family, and Shadow Squad. Everyone was set to depart in the morning; the Iktotchi for their homeworld, Shadow Squad for...

Trax sighed. Who fekking knew where? Did it even matter? He was a canned soldier, one of millions. He knew damn well he'd go where and do what he was told. He'd probably die on some backwater mudball with a plasma bolt in his skull, and there would be no one to mourn him.

_Kriff, I should give it a rest. _He scowled at the tumbler of whiskey at his elbow. He'd only had a few swallows, but apparently it was enough to cast his thoughts into such maudlin _osik_.

"Trax."

The familiar voice only deepened his scowl and made his jaw get tight, but he said nothing. Maybe if he didn't acknowledge his captain, Stonewall would get the hint and leave him alone.

No such luck.

The other clone stood beside him at the railing and surveyed the city. Parts of it were smoking ruins, courtesy of the Seppies, but not as many as there could have been, and it was quiet at last. Further proof that Shadow Squad had done their job effectively.

Stonewall took a deep breath. "So, now you know."

Traxis looked at the moons obscured by clouds. _Force-sensitive._ It made sense, in a weird, effed up kind of way. It explained a lot. But not everything.

There was a beat, then Stonewall sighed again, and turned to Traxis. "It started about eight months after Aruna. Kali and I don't know how it happened, or why. Only that it did. She's tried to teach me some things...mostly with controlling it. And," he added, a faint smile in his voice, "using a lightsaber. I have to say, that's been one of the more enjoyable aspects."

Traxis was silent. If he spoke, if he even fekking moved, he'd go supernova.

Another pause, and Trax knew without looking that Stonewall would have that thoughtful look on his face, the one that creased his forehead and pulled his lips together, the one that would eventually smooth into determination once he settled on his next approach. It might take him a while, but when he found his path, he would not stray from it.

At last, Stonewall took another breath. "I know you're angry with me, but I'm asking you to please not tell the others. Will you do that, Traxis?"

The clouds shifted, revealing a little more of the third moon. Even from here, Traxis could see it was a different shape than the other two, misshapen and asteroid-scarred. A warm wind blew, rifling through his off-duty fatigues and teasing his hair.

"_Vod_?"

Now he looked at Stonewall, and took no pains to allow his anger and hurt – yes, hurt, there was no use hiding it anymore – to seep through his words. "I'm not your effing _vod_, Stonewall."

It was probably the worst thing he could have said. Stonewall reacted visibly; his mouth opened but no sound came out, and his shoulders slumped. "You don't mean that."

"_Vode _don't keep secrets like that from each other." Traxis gripped the railing with white knuckles. "_Fek, _Stonewall, I've known you longer than any of the other guys. We've been through...more than any of them." He took a breath to steady his voice and maybe calm the trembling in his hands, the kind he got when he really, really wanted to punch someone.

"I know," Stonewall said quietly. "You're right, Trax. We've been through a lot. More than most."

Traxis looked away again. "But it doesn't change anything."

"Not this." Stonewall was silent for a few moments, then rubbed his forehead. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Traxis crossed his arms before his chest and glared full-throttle at the other man. "For lying to me – to all of us – for almost a fekking _year_? For asking us to watch your back, and _her _back, without doing the same?"

"I'm always there for you," Stonewall shot back. "_All_ of you. All the time. Say the word, and I'm there."

"If you want trust, you have to give it," Traxis growled. "But you _don't_ trust us. You never have. _Fek_, we had to basically confront you about your relationship with the general, remember? You should have just told us, Stonewall."

Stonewall's shoulders fell a little more. "I was too different. I still am. I didn't think I could lead you if you thought I was too different."

"Exactly." Traxis took a shaking breath, and dug his nails in his arm hard enough to draw blood. "This affects all of us, but you made the call on your own because you didn't effing trust us. But we would have understood. Even me."

Neither spoke for a moment, then Traxis glanced over at his captain. His chin was down, his eyes were lidded. _Fek_. He looked like he'd been kicked in the gut by a fragging ronto. Repeatedly.

And Traxis was, at his core, a kriffing soft touch. Not with everyone, of course. Just with those he loved. _Ah, hell. _"You were right."

Stonewall looked up, brow furrowed, but he was silent. Traxis sighed and uncrossed his arms. "You're my _vod, _Stonewall. You always will be. I didn't mean it when I said otherwise. I was just trying to piss you off."

It was slow to come, but at last a faint, half-smile tugged at Stonewall's mouth. "_Di'kut_."

"Back at you."

The half-smile broadened to full, and despite himself, despite everything, Traxis relished the sight. His posture more at ease, Stonewall leaned against the railing and regarded the moons. High-level clouds still rushed past them, creating a wavering, pale film across all three. Higher in the sky now, the misshapen moon seemed smaller and farther away than the others.

He seemed to consider something, then looked back at Traxis, worry etched on his face again. "Please don't tell them."

Traxis scowled, but it was half-hearted. Though he'd go down fighting, he knew he'd already lost the battle. "Why?"

"Because it's my secret to tell, not yours. Because there's too much we _don't _know. And because if even one wrong person finds out," Stonewall frowned, but it was a more severe expression than Traxis had ever seen, "a lot of _osik _will come down on Kali."

Kalinda. Of-kriffing-course. Stonewall's galaxy began and ended with her, and sometimes, when he was tired or hurt or angry, and didn't care what thoughts he allowed to surface, Traxis was jealous.

It was fleeting, though, because _fek_, that woman loved the hell out of Stonewall, and he her. For all his hard-_shebs_ cynicism, Traxis was glad to know Stonewall had someone like that. Kalinda was a good woman, too, Jedi or not, and Traxis was self-aware enough to feel shame for his jealous feelings, which would do none of them any good, nor change a karking thing. But they existed, anyway.

Stonewall was normally a pretty easy-going guy. He was an officer, to be sure, but he rarely threw his weight around, and he never made his men do something he wouldn't. But if Kalinda was involved, Stonewall would brook no argument, allow no compromise. When it came to her, as far as the captain was concerned, it was all or nothing.

A man of conviction. Trax had always liked that about him.

So he nodded once. "Alright, Stonewall. I won't tell them."

"Promise me."

The words were sharp, almost dark, and they caught Traxis by surprise. More so, when coupled with the captain's grip on his arm and eyes fixed on his. "Promise me, Traxis," Stonewall said, voice soft and deadly serious. "Swear it."

Traxis held his gaze. "You have my word, Stonewall. Your secret is safe with me." He hesitated, then pressed his hand against Stonewall's chest, above the place his heart lived. "I swear it."

Stonewall tensed, eyes flickering to Trax's hand. Slowly, Traxis withdrew it and rested it back on the railing. "Sorry. Little too much whiskey and not enough dinner."

"It's alright." Stonewall leaned against the railing, his body close but not touching. "Thank you."

_Anything. Always. Just say the word. _Traxis shrugged and looked at the moons, high and far away, and obscured by clouds. "Sure, _vod."_

* * *

Next time: Present-day, on Kamino.


	6. Chapter 5

Warning: This chapter is rated "M," as it is rather graphic and intense. No sex, gore or violence, just unpleasantness. Proceed with caution.

Lyrics: "Transatlanticism," by Death Cab For Cutie, on _Transatlanticism_.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door,_

_Has been silenced forevermore._

_And the distance is quite simply much to far for me to row;_

_It seems farther than ever before._

_I need you so much closer._

_Present day..._

"Wake up, _vod_."

Milo opened his eyes and blinked in the dim light of the transport. "Whassat?"

Beneath his cheek, Stonewall chuckled; he felt the captain's shoulder shift with the slight movement of his body. "We've come out of hyperspace," Stonewall said as Milo sat up. "It's been long enough; I think we've arrived."

Sure enough, the transport's sublight engines were thrumming hard enough to rattle the deck-plates, indicating that the vessel was dropping through atmosphere. Milo and Stonewall exchanged glances, and judging by the captain's grim expression, Milo thought they were each equally unhappy to be here.

Kriff, his shoulders ached from having his hands bound behind his back, and he _really _needed to use the 'fresher; two unnamed clone guards had taken them to the transport's cramped 'fresher a few hours ago, but apparently the few swallows of water he'd had in the interim had moved right through him. If he'd had his armor, it wouldn't have been an issue. Clone kits were outfitted for _every _contingency, after all.

In an effort to distract himself, Milo twisted his back, savoring the slight _pop_ of joints, then glanced at the captain. "Did you sleep at all, sir?"

Stonewall sighed. "No 'sir,' Milo. I'm pretty sure I've been decommissioned."

"Alright." Milo wriggled out his legs, which felt numb from being seated for so long. "But did you sleep any?"

The other clone shrugged as best he could with his hands cuffed and that weird collar around his neck. "A little. Off and on."

Milo studied his captain. Former captain. _Whatever. _"Did you try to," he glanced around and dropped his voice to a whisper, "use _it _again?"

_That _had been one heck of a revealing conversation, in more ways than one. Honestly, the suddenly Force-sensitive thing didn't bother Milo quite as much as it should have. Stonewall loved a Jedi, and she loved him. Maybe shared Force-abilities came with the territory. Who knew, really?

What didn't sit well with Milo was the fact that Stonewall hadn't told anyone else about something so momentous, something that affected the entire squad. It...well, it kind of hurt, though he had no desire to reveal such a thing, especially not now. Very likely, if that collar was any indication, whatever was about to happen to his captain – former captain – would be very unpleasant, and Milo had no wish to add his own jawboning to the mix.

Instead, he'd gotten Stonewall to talk about using a lightsaber and speaking to the general through the Force, which was apparently what he'd been doing the last time the collar had shocked him.

Stonewall gave him a look that Milo recognized as part frustration, part affection. "I think they know, Mi. You don't have to whisper."

"Sorry, sir. Force of habit." Milo winced. "I mean: sorry, _Stonewall_."

There was a pause, then, to Milo's astonishment, Stonewall snickered. "Good one, _vod."_

"Good...? Oh." A grin crept to Milo's face as he realized his unwitting joke. _Force of habit. _"Yeah. Crest would've liked that one."

The mention of their bald brother sobered the mood pretty quick, and neither spoke for a little while as the transport dropped through atmo. Milo spent the time trying _not _to think of certain things: what his _vode _were doing, back on Corrie; what sort of mess he and Stonewall were about to walk into, and whether or not they'd walk out; the fact that now he really, _really _had to piss.

The vibration increased, indicating that the vessel was landing. Sure enough, a few minutes later the vibrating stopped, and the _hiss _of hydraulics sounded as the boarding ramp was lowered. The door to the cockpit slid open, and Stonewall tensed beside Milo as two unfamiliar, armored clones stepped inside. Without a word, they pulled the two bound clones to their feet and ushered them out the door.

Outside, a storm raged. At the threshold of the ship, Milo only caught the edges of it, but the sound of rain drumming on duracrete was one from his earliest memories, and the cool wind that rifled through his hair made him feel like a cadet again. After they exited the ship, it was only a matter of moments before he was soaked through and blinking against the stringing rain. He and Stonewall were brought inside one of the standard, disc-shaped Kaminoan structures, then through a series of doors and scanners, where they were each checked for weapons – again. They'd undergone a similar going-over back on Corrie, but Milo supposed it was protocol to check prisoners upon arrival.

His gut tightened as reality sunk in further. _Prisoners. _

Once they were cleared, they were brought through another series of doors, then down one of the long, white corridors Milo had come to be so familiar with in Tipoca City. Except...

He inhaled deeply, then nodded to himself in confirmation. "This isn't Tipoca City," he muttered to Stonewall, walking beside him. "At least...I don't think so."

Stonewall glanced around, frowning. "What makes you say that?"

"It smells different." At Stonewall's look, he tried to elaborate. "Tipoca City smells...fishier. Brinier. This place...doesn't."

He regretted the words almost the moment they left his mouth, and wondered if he was wrong, or if it made any difference. What did it matter _where_ they were on Kamino? They were _on_ Kamino.

But Stonewall inhaled too, then nodded. "You're right, Mi. It does smell different."

"Hey, keep it down, you two," one of the guards said, pressing the muzzle of his blaster into Milo's back.

"Where have you brought us?" Stonewall asked.

"Kamino, you dreg," the other guard growled, nudging his blaster further into Milo's back. "Now shut it and step lively. You've got an appointment, and Creon Dai does not like to be kept waiting."

Milo's gut churned, adding to the pressure against his bladder. That did _not _bode well.

He and Stonewall were brought down what felt like klicks of corridors, pure white and gleaming in the manner of Kaminoan architecture. As he'd done many times during his youth, Milo tried to make out the ultraviolet patterns on the walls, but it was futile. Only Kaminoans could see in that spectrum; only the long-necks knew what sort of designs and messages were written on those seemingly blank walls.

At last, after going through several more doors and passages, they reached what Milo first thought was a jail of some kind. It was much smaller than the barracks in Tipoca City, perhaps a hundred meters across, square-shaped, single leveled. Two rows of cells filled the space, each one numbered and softly lit in blue – a welcome change from the glaring white light in most of the Kaminoan areas. Each cell was divided by walls, naturally, though the walls themselves were outfitted with dozens of flattish, oblong slots, illuminated with cool blue lights. The effect was kind of calming, actually, and made the cells – the entire place – look as if it was underwater.

There were ten cells, each one about five square meters, and within some of them was anywhere from one to three clones. Some looked like ancient, old men; one was young, cadet-aged, but for the most part they looked normal. What the kriff were they doing here? And why had he and Stonewall been brought here, too?

Milo watched the other clones watching him, and felt a shiver of unease run down his spine. "What is this place?"

"Your new home," one of the guards at his back said, and the other snickered. Stonewall's jaw got tight and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Milo took a deep breath and tried to focus on ignoring his bladder.

They paused before one of the empty cells. The guard who'd snickered punched in a code on the lock-panel and the pale-blue energy shield dropped. To Milo's relief and joy, the cuffs at his wrists were removed, though the good feeling was banished by the millions of tiny needles pricking his hands and arms as blood rushed back to the areas. A not-so-gentle push against Milo's back alerted him to the fact that he was supposed to step inside, so he did. There wasn't really an alternative, and he had the notion that being back on Kamino had dredged up a lot of his old "follow-orders-without-questioning" habits, ones that General Halcyon had never seemed to care for.

But thinking of her was not helpful right now, so Milo stepped inside without a fuss. Inside, another clone stood with his back pressed to the wall, but his attention was mainly on Stonewall, who moved to follow Milo.

"Nope." Both guards grabbed his arms and pulled the former captain back, causing him to stumble. "_You've_ got an appointment."

Where Stonewall had been as compliant as Milo, now the thought of being separated from his squad-mate seemed to alarm him. Stonewall planted his feet and braced himself against the guards, looking for all the world like he was about to break out of those cuffs, and Milo wondered if he was going to try and use the Force again.

"No," Stonewall said calmly, though his voice resonated with authority. "First, you tell me where we are, and what sort of 'appointment' this is."

"Come on, we haven't got all day," the first guard said, angling his blaster toward the former captain.

But the other guard shook his head. "No, Ward! Scientist Dai said we weren't to stun him, remember? _Or_ give him a hypo."

Ward made a noise of frustration. "Kriff. Yeah, I remember, Halligan. This fekker's getting on my nerves, though." He paused, then whipped his blaster around and smacked the captain's jaw with the weapon's butt. Hard. Milo winced at the sound of plastoid hitting skin, and Stonewall gave a grunt of pain.

"_You _are not in any position to give orders any more," Ward said in a dark voice. "You're just another defect. What they effing want with you is beyond me, but it doesn't matter. You're defective, just like every other dreg here. So shut your mouth and do as you're told."

Stonewall's head had dropped with the force of the blow, but now he lifted his eyes and glanced at Milo, who was gratified to see the durasteel in his captain's gaze despite the now-bleeding scrape on his jawline. Stonewall didn't say anything, just straightened slowly, turned, and met Ward's gaze with his own. In his face was nothing less than calm defiance.

Ward shook his head and muttered something. The energy shield sprang back to life, and Stonewall was led away, eyes up, back straight. At the last moment he looked back, at Milo. "It's going to be alright, _vod," _he said in Mando'a, before one of the guards silenced him with another cuff.

Milo stood by the shield and watched, as best he could from this angle, as his brother and former captain was led away. Not until Stonewall was out of sight did Milo feel a stab of true despair, and even then he wasn't sure it'd really sunk in. Blinking hard, he looked around the cell-block, desperate to find something that would bring some sense to all this._ Or, you know, a 'fresher. That would be pretty nice._

"What're _you _doing here?"

The other clone in the cell. Slowly, Milo turned and saw the man leaning against the far wall, one hand tucked in the pockets of his fatigues, the other arm behind his back. His eyes flickered over Milo warily, as if any moment the newcomer would explode.

Milo shook his head. "I don't...I don't know." His chest was suddenly very tight, like he was wearing armor that was far too small, and it was difficult to breathe. His vision swam in blue splotches and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he stuck out one arm to the nearest wall to stop the room from spinning.

Only to meet the humming energy shield, which sent a pulse of electricity through his body; it was not enough to do any lasting damage, but enough to cause a nasty sting. He yelped and stumbled backwards, landing ungracefully on the floor. For a moment he sat there, fighting to catch his breath and clear his vision, maybe calm the furious lash of his heart, but he had a feeling his efforts were for nothing.

Then another clone was beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, take it easy. It's going to be okay."

Milo nodded but he hardly heard the words of reassurance. His head was thick and his brain felt like it'd swollen inside his skull, like there wasn't enough room for everything that had happened...

Something cold pressed against his forehead, pulling him out of his haze. He glanced up and saw the other clone offering a plasti-bottle of water, one hand outstretched, the other...

Missing. As in not there. As in, this clone only had one hand. No; make that one arm. His right arm held out the bottle, while his left tapered off in a stump, right before the place where his elbow should have been.

Numbly, Milo accepted the bottle and murmured his thanks. He twisted off the top and took a few gulps, then slowly, carefully, raised his eyes to his new cell-mate. His vision had cleared a little, so he could see that, aside from the arm, the other clone appeared to be normal. "Who are you?"

The other fellow smiled, but the expression did not reach his eyes. "I'm Zero. What's your name?"

"Milo." He took another sip of water and looked around again; the cell was sparse, but outfitted with two sets of bunk beds and a 'fresher closet. _Thank the Force._ He looked back at the one-armed clone again, and realized his head was relatively clear, so he made to stand up. He wobbled a bit, so Zero reached out and helped him to his feet.

Once Milo stood, Zero reached out his hand as if to shake Milo's. But he didn't shake it; he took Milo's hand and examined it, his brow furrowed. This close, Milo could see that Zero was a little older; he had flecks of gray in his hair and lines around his mouth and eyes. After a moment, Zero dropped his hand and gave him that wary look again. "What's wrong with you?"

"Um..." Milo frowned. "I've been told I'm kind of obnoxious and naïve. And I whistle sometimes, when I'm concentrating on something else, like flying." Crest and Trax had been annoyed to no end with the whistling, though the general loved it. "And I really have to pee."

Zero's mouth twitched in a near-smile. "No, I mean, why are you_ here?"_

"Where's here?"

"The Dregs." Zero indicated the cell-block with a sweep of his single hand. "Sector Nine, within Timira City. The long-necks' wastebin. The place where all the defects are dissected and studied before they're processed."

_Processed. _That was a term Milo knew well, one that was almost as bad as _reconditioned. _Milo's heart rate kicked up another few beats. "So...everyone here is going to be...killed?"

Zero gave that bitter, razor-thin smile once more. "If you're very lucky. Here," he added congenially, "let me show you to the 'fresher."

* * *

_Moments ago..._

"So just shut your mouth and do as you're told."

_Fek you, _Stonewall thought, gritting his teeth against the blooming pain in his jaw. _Fek both of you. _But he refused to give Ward or Halligan the satisfaction of breaking his calm, so he swallowed his curses and stood as straight as possible. As he did, he caught sight of Milo, watching him with wide eyes, and his resolve hardened. He would not break in front of his younger brother. He would not let Milo know how frightened he was, if only to give his _vod _one less thing to worry about.

That in mind, he kept quiet as he was led away. But if he didn't return, he would need to say something, anything, because if this was the last time he saw Milo...

_Don't think like that. _Stonewall turned as best he could and spoke a few harried words of Mando'a, the language more than the words themselves meant to console. Ward struck him with the back of his hand, but he hardly felt the blow as he tried desperately to catch one last glimpse of Milo.

They stepped inside a turbolift at the end of the cell-block, and when the door shut, Stonewall knew he was on his own. Neither of his captors spoke to him, so he took a moment to gather what little of the Force he could. On the journey out here, he'd been able to access the Force a very little bit, enough to soothe away some of the ache in his muscles and keep his calm. While the collar prohibited him from doing anything major, like a Force-push or to contact Kali, he found he could still touch the well of energy within him, almost as if he was setting it aside for safekeeping, for a time later when his access to it would be restored.

So the collar only suppressed the Force; it didn't negate the energy altogether. There was hope.

Stonewall knew he would need it.

The 'lift paused and the former captain was shoved forward, into yet another gleaming corridor like the veritable maze he and Milo had been forced through earlier. He tried to remember each twist and turn, but they all looked the same, and the stress of the last day or so was starting to wear him thin. Perhaps it was wiser to retain his focus toward getting him through whatever this "appointment" would have in store.

At last the other clones stopped before a nondescript, metallic door, polished to a sheen, with a small lock-panel at the side. Neither clone moved for a moment, and Stonewall was able to catch faint ripples of agitation from each of them, centered on whatever was behind that door.

_Now _the barves hesitated. Past playing nice with either clone, Stonewall sighed loudly. "Can we get this over with?"

He pitched his voice to a sharp, mocking tone, the one that Traxis favored when the scarred clone felt particularly contrary. Ward swore beneath his breath and Halligan tapped a code into the lock-panel, adding a not-so-gentle push against Stonewall's back to prod him forward.

At first, Stonewall thought he'd been brought to a medbay of some kind. Bright lights hung from the ceiling on stiff, flexible cords, allowing them freedom of movement over the tables. There were half a dozen tables, made of some shiny, silver metal and outfitted with straps and cuffs, and something that looked uncomfortably like an indent where a man's head was supposed to be placed. The room stank of antiseptic and that faint, fishy smell that accompanied all long-necks.

A few Kaminoans stood at edge of the room, turning at the clones' entry. On the screens behind him, Stonewall was startled to see a vid-feed of...

_The Corrie Guard barracks? _Sure enough, it was a looped clip of..._him, _using the Force on the Corrie Guards. The footage was grainy, but it was obvious that he'd done something no clone should be able to do. He watched the Guards tumble away from his hand again and again, and his stomach twisted.

One of the Kaminoans glided toward Stonewall, gray eyes skimming across him with indifference. "Put him on that table," the male long-neck said, gesturing to the nearest one. "Make sure he is secured."

"Yes, sir," Halligan said stiffly. Ward said nothing, and Stonewall caught a stab of revulsion and pure fear from each man as they began to steer him toward the exam table. As they brought him, the overhead light was reflected in the table's mirrored surface, shining bright enough to hurt his eyes, and when he looked away, he spotted one of the Kaminoans readying a tray of medical implements.

Something inside Stonewall snapped. He planted his feet again, desperate to go anywhere but to that _fekking_ table but too frightened and proud to beg for mercy. Heart racing, calm forgotten, he acted on pure instinct. He ducked his head in an effort to gather what Force energy he could, like drawing a blanket to his chin, hoping, praying that maybe the collar wouldn't–

This shock was worse than before. Pain arced through his body and slammed him to his knees. Sweat prickled across his back, his vision blurred, his blood turned to ice, and his breath came in stuttered gasps.

Momentarily crippled, he went limp, and the long-necks seized the advantage. Stonewall was slung onto the examination table like a sack of muja fruit. Cool, smooth hands grasped his arms and legs, and something sharp scraped along his thigh – they were cutting off his damp fatigues. Groaning, he tried to twist away, but someone much stronger than he held his head while another long-neck slid a metallic strap around his forehead, and he blearily watched two more of the Kaminoans place similar binders at his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles.

Kaminoans were nothing if not efficient. In a matter of seconds he was naked and bound, and utterly helpless. Stonewall tried to take a deep breath, straining his body against the bonds, but could not move without touching something metallic and cold. Panic settled in again, and he twisted and strained against the binders, desperate to get away, but his efforts were unsuccessful. His heart raced so fast he was certain he was going to pass out, but he was deaf to anything but the furious lash of his fear. It was an ingrained fear, one that stemmed from self-preservation, because few clones survived their formative years on Kamino without developing – at the very least – a healthy respect for the objective brutality of the storm-world's denizens.

One of the long-necks murmured something to the male who'd given Ward and Halligan their orders, but he shook his head. "I require untainted samples at this time. Do not administer sedatives of any kind without my express permission."

"Yes, Scientist Dai," the long-neck said, lowering her head in deference.

Through his fog of fear, Stonewall recognized the movement, and figured that the crested, male Kaminoan was the leader of this group; the "Creon Dai" that Ward had mentioned. The observation, though perfunctory, gave him something else to focus on other than his own terror, and allowed him a much-needed moment of relative calm. His heart still raced, but his vision cleared and he was able to take a deep breath and try to get a better look at his surroundings.

Ward and Halligan were gone. From what Stonewall could see, it was just himself and half a dozen long-necks, all of whom eyed him with what he recognized as excitement in their kind. Nictitating membranes flickered over gray eyes, and their slitted nostrils flared as they tried not to breathe too heavily, lest their emotions be known by the others. Most of them were lankier and shorter than the average long-neck, which made Stonewall think they were juveniles.

_Am I in a fekking student lab?_ The notion made him ill and angry all at once.

Creon Dai stood over Stonewall, who fought for his own calm all over again as he looked into the flat, gray eyes of the male Kaminoan. Of all the Kaminoans in the room, this one appeared to be fully-grown, and there was no eagerness in his stance. Further reining in his fear, Stonewall was able to get a sense of this long-neck's emotions. There was no apathy, nor disdain for the clone subject quivering on the table. There was simply a sort of _calm, _but not the sort favored by Jedi. It was more like a feeling of readiness, as if this Kaminoan had a task before him and was set upon completing it.

A draft of cold, recycled air hit Stonewall's bare skin, and he shivered again.

"I want samples from it," Dai said to the juvenile Kaminoan beside him as he picked up a datapad and began entering information. "The full spectrum: blood, urine, fecal matter, saliva, hair follicles, seminal fluid." The juvenile nodded and turned to the tray of instruments that had been brought beside the clone.

Stonewall's heart began to race again. All of that sounded kriffing terrible, but he'd been subjected to similar humiliations in his cadet days on this world. All clones had. There was a number of sarcastic jokes in the ranks about being on "drained and pained duty," which pretty much summed up what he was about to undergo. Unpleasant, to be sure, but nothing he couldn't handle.

So he told himself.

The scent of antiseptic hit him before the cold press of it on his arm, both of which were a prelude to drawing blood. Another long-neck took a pair of tweezers to his head, armpits and pubis, making him wince, though not as much, he knew, as the process of taking any of the _other _samples they wanted.

As one of the long-necks approached with an ominously slender instrument, the leader stood beside Stonewall's head, a datapad in his elongated fingers. "Number and rank?"

Something pinched extremely sensitive skin, and Stonewall gritted his teeth. He answered the long-neck if only to think about anything else. "CC-3077. Captain Stonewall. Shadow Squad. Seventh Sky Corps."

More information than requested, but it gave him a tiny bit of comfort to hear the mention of his squad. The pinching increased and he squeezed his eyes shut, working to keep his breathing steady.

"You are Force-sensitive." It was not a question, but Stonewall nodded. "How?"

"I don't...know–" A sharp flare of pain made him gasp and his body jerk in an unconscious effort to get away, but he was held firmly in place by the bonds. Thank the Force, the pinching eased in the next moment, and he groaned in relief.

Creon Dai entered something into his 'pad. "How long have you been able to use the Force?"

"Dunno," he managed after a beat. A flicker of movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he winced as his jaw was wrenched open; something hard scraped against his inner cheek, then he was released.

"Try to estimate."

Stonewall's mind was hazy with pain, but he fought through it for a suitable answer. Nothing he said could be traced to Kali. If anyone thought she'd somehow transferred the Force to him...

No. He would not think of that, either. Stonewall figured his own life was forfeit. All that mattered was keeping his wife and their child safe.

A section of the table beneath him retracted and a draft of air hit his _shebs, _neither of which boded well, and Stonewall braced himself against the incoming invasion. Cold. It was cold in a part of his body that should never be effing cold. _Would it have fekking killed them to run the damn thing under some hot water? _

"Maybe a couple years," he said at last. "I'm not sure."

Creon entered more information into his 'pad. "How did you first realize you could use the Force?"

There had been hints. From what Kali had told him, it was uncommon for all but the closest Jedi to truly speak to one another in the Force; she'd only been able to do so with her father and dearest friend. And him. They'd spoken to each other without words well before he'd been able to really access the Force, and sometimes he wondered if he should have seen it coming.

But he could say none of that, so he managed to fabricate something else. The cold, invasive feeling worsened, and despite the cool temperature of the room, sweat prickled his back and arms. "I could...move stuff. Small stuff. With my," _ow, fek, _"my mind."

At last the instrument slid free and his entire body sagged against the table. By his estimation they were done collecting bits of him; maybe it was over. But that thought was almost as terrifying as being here in the first place, and fear caught in his gut again. If they were through with him, would he be killed, or worse...reconditioned?

Creon Dai peered down at him, though he spoke to one of his lackeys who'd come to his side. "It will be interesting to see exactly what the unit is capable of. Yes?"

"All of the unit's samples have been collected, Scientist."

"Hmm." The elder long-neck entered something on his 'pad, then glanced at the younger. "Very good. We'll begin the hypertests now, so give it a dose of thorazin and take another round of samples. I want to see how its body reacts to the stimulus, despite the suppressive collar. Very often Force-sensitives will instinctively act in self-defense, even if they know their efforts will be futile."

The lackey bowed and moved back to Stonewall, who bit back a groan. He had no kriffing clue what _thorazin _was, but everything Creon said made it sound...bad. Sure enough, moments after the hypospray was pressed to his neck, the drug hit his system with the force of a thermal det. Everything was magnified: every sound and smell. Every sensation. All of a sudden his heart thundered faster than it ever had, fear suffusing his limbs, his mind, his very spirit. Sweat ran rivulets down his forehead and back. The first touch of the needle to his veins made him gasp; the pain was worse than he remembered, and he'd had blood drawn countless times. He cried out in earnest when more samples were taken from various orifices, and the resulting sear of pain whitewashed his vision.

It was becoming more than he could bear. Stonewall tasted copper where he'd bitten his tongue in a useless attempt to keep from shouting, though he knew it didn't matter. The long-necks didn't care about stoicism or bravery. They didn't care if he suffered silently, cursed them to the Nine Hells, or bawled his kriffing eyes out. All they wanted was data.

More pain. Different than before, though it all blended together and clawed at his control, shredding any sense of calm. His breath came in short bursts and he couldn't think, couldn't feel anything but _hurt._ His heart was going to burst out of his ribcage and his body was slick with sweat and shuddering. _I can't do this..._

It was too much. Desperate for relief, he tried to think of something else, anything other than the ravaging pain. Dark eyes meeting his, a wry smile following; they allowed him to take a deep breath. _I love you. _A head resting on his shoulder as his fingers wove through a sea of dark hair, unraveling a careful braid; another calming breath. _Wherever you go, whatever happens, I will find you._ Small comforts in the wake of the pain, but he welcomed any relief.

Words filtered through his foggy brain. "...stronger dose...thorazin."

Then the pain increased again, as if Stonewall was being ripped apart. Pain pushed away all other things, and it was too much...

A final breath, then the void closed around him, black and soft and welcoming.

* * *

_Approximately one month ago..._

Damp and freshly showered, Stonewall set down his comm and tugged on a pair of sleep-pants and shirt, then made his way from his and Kali's bedroom to the common area of the suite that Shadow Squad shared on Coraux. He'd been around the galaxy enough to know that this villa was modest by most politicians' standards, but for a man who'd spent his life in utilitarian barracks, the suite was the height of luxury. It was a nice change. Add to that a successful mission, nearly over, and Stonewall thought he would have many pleasant memories of this world.

Soft music filtered to him, accompanied by female singing, and he paused in the doorway, watching as Kali moved about the kitchen, singing along with the radio. The villa's back door was open, facing the ocean, allowing entry to a few, salt-tinged night breezes that fluttered her sleeveless tunic. Her remade braid was damp and like him, she was barefoot.

She was preparing a pot of tea; he watched her squeeze the tea bag before setting it in the nearest wastebin, pour, then lift the cup to her lips and blow across the rim. As she did, her eyes fell on him and she smiled, a hint of mischief in the expression. "Hello, there. Nice to see you."

He smiled back. "Yeah, it's been ages, hasn't it?"

She laughed and turned down the radio with a wave of her hand. "Tea?"

"Sure." He inhaled but couldn't discern the scents that greeted him. "What kind?"

"Lipana and honey." Kali took a careful sip from her ceramic mug and sighed, squeezing her eyes shut in exaggerated pleasure. "It's delicious."

"Sounds it. Thanks."

As she reached for another mug, he stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, out of her way but still nearby. "I comm'd Weave. They got some dinner, and are exploring the boardwalk."

"How drunk was he?"

"Leaning toward 'very,'" Stonewall chuckled. "Don't worry; I told him to call if they need a ride back," he added at her look. "But they've earned some fun."

"That they have. Besides, it's my own fault for giving Weave all those 'discretionary funds.'"

"I know they appreciate it."

Kali smiled as she handed him a steaming mug. "Appreciation goes both ways."

As she'd done, he blew across the tea's dark surface, though the action was habitual, as there was no way a single breath would cool the drink. He took a tentative sip and savored the warm, flowery taste, then nodded in satisfaction. Generally he was a caf man, but this stuff was pretty good.

"What do you think?"

"I like it. It's very," he took another careful taste, "sweet. But not sugary sweet. Sort of...softer."

"That's the honey." She turned his wrist to get a look at his chrono. "Should we wait up for the guys?"

He nodded again. Kali switched off the kitchen lights and they slipped into the adjacent common area; he took a seat on one of the large, round, padded chairs. As he flicked on the vid-screen, Kali nestled beside him, tucking her knees up and leaning her head on his shoulder while he skimmed through the various channels before settling on the latest bolo-ball scores.

He wondered if she'd object, but she seemed content to watch as well. Neither spoke for a little while as they sipped their tea and watched the recap of the plays that had assured Eltair their place in the finals.

"You like Eltair, right?" she asked suddenly. Her voice had that hazy quality it got when she was nodding off.

By now, the tea had cooled enough to savor, so he took a long swallow and nodded. "Yeah. Eltair's really got it tied up this year, I think. The only other team even close is Dremm. We won't know until the game next week, though."

"That's nice..."

The words faded. He glanced down and saw that she'd fallen asleep against his shoulder, the mug of tea almost drained, but tipping enough to spill into his lap, so he used the Force to lift it gently from her grasp and set it upon one the caf-table before them. She was so warm against him, and the steady rise and fall of her chest was one of the most beautiful things he would ever see. Her breathing had slowed and her jaw was slack, but it was another brush with the Force that told him she was truly asleep.

A deeper inquiry assured him that the overwhelming happiness he'd sensed from her before, during the conception, had faded into a kind of awed contentment. A few threads of sorrow still wove through her Force-presence, but they, too, had faded; he knew she'd mourn Obi-Wan for some time, but there was so much to look forward to, now. More than he'd ever believed possible, but as much as, he now acknowledged, he'd ever wanted. It was not a dream. No dream could compare to the shared, terrified joy that permeated his and Kali's Force-presences.

He flicked off the vid-screen with a wave of his hand, the gesture so casual that he hardly realized he'd done so until the room was dark. They hadn't turned on any lights; the only illumination was Coraux's rings, painting the beach in varying shades of white and pale gray.

Stonewall looked down at Kali again, savoring the curve of her cheek and the dark fall of her hair over her shoulder. Her usual single plait was nearly undone, reminding him of how distraught she'd looked when he'd found her on the beach, a few hours ago.

It felt longer. So much had changed since then.

There were countless worries to occupy his attention, but he did not want to sully tonight with fears of the future. Maybe their hopes would be met with grief. Maybe not. Right now, what mattered most was curled into his side, snoring softly every few breaths.

Taking care to be gentle, he unraveled the remnants of Kali's braid just to feel the soft strands between his fingers. "No promises," he murmured to his sleeping wife. "Only choices."

_I choose you._

Always.

* * *

A/N: Creon Dai is another OC, found in the _Eye Of the Storm _trilogy. Expect a few more OCs of mine to make appearances.


	7. Chapter 6

Lyrics: "Hard Time Killing Floor Blues." Originally performed by Skip James. The version I've used is by Chris Thomas King, from _The Roots_. (If this version sounds familiar, that's because it's also on the _Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou_? soundtrack.)

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_People, if I ever can get up,_

_Off of this old hard killing floor,_

_Lord, I'll never get down this low no more._

_Present day..._

To keep himself from running to the energy-shield every two minutes to see if they were bringing Stonewall back, Milo paced. Honestly, he was pretty tired, but there was no way he could sleep right now, not while the long-necks had Stonewall somewhere, doing Force-knew what to him.

Luckily, Zero didn't seem to care if Milo paced. The elder clone leaned against the wall, back tucked into the cell's corner and watched Milo with bemusement, though he answered all of Milo's questions without hesitation or annoyance.

"But the Kaminoans cull defective clones when they're young, don't they?"

Zero shrugged. "Most of us are culled, that's true. But not all." His face twisted into a grimace, though the expression smoothed away almost immediately. "Apparently a few of us are considered worth studying for prolonged periods, to prevent any 'future mistakes' in the cloning process."

Temporarily distracted, Milo stopped before the other clone. "They told you that?"

Zero flashed him an unlikely, broad smile. "In a sense. I've been around. You'd be amazed at what you pick up when the long-necks think you're unconscious during _all_ those tests."

The implications behind his words made Milo's skin crawl, and he began to pace again. _Tests. _Was that what they were doing to Stonewall? Probably so. _Why else would we be brought here? _

_No, not _we_. Just him. _Not for the first time in the last few hours, Milo's stomach knotted. Only Stonewall was supposed to be on Kamino; _he_ was superfluous. How long would he be kept around before someone realized he wasn't like any of these other clones? He wasn't defective.

This in mind, he looked back at Zero. "How many men are here?"

"It varies. About a dozen, right now. Some are in it for the long haul, like yours truly. Others just pop in and out." Zero emphasized his point by snapping his fingers once.

Milo fought back a shudder at the other clone's casual tone. Kriff, it was like they were talking about the _shabla _weather, not men's lives! He took a breath and tried to keep his next words steady. "Is everyone else...er...in the same situation as you are?"

"Nah, we're the full spectrum of deformities. Rime's blind. Den's feet are crooked. There's a new kid who can't speak, but I heard Ward say he wasn't vatted that way; it just happened during a training exercise, so the long-necks set him aside to study. Cobble's...odd. Quiet and mumbly. Apparently he was supposed to be a medic, but he's not so great with blasters. Unfortunately for him, medics need to be able to shoot and stuff, too.

"Sometimes we get fellows with a malfunction with the rapid-aging gene, though there tend to be so many of them, the long-necks like to put them to work in other areas. They're sensible that way." Zero chuckled. "Waste not, right?"

Milo was silent for a moment, absorbing all he'd heard as he surveyed the cells beyond his with new interest. It was difficult to make out the other clones through the rippling energy-shields, but he could see a few guys if he squinted.

He glanced back at Zero, his eyes automatically falling on his stump."You were...vatted that way?"

In retrospect, it was an incredibly rude question, but not much seemed to faze the older clone. "Yep. There was some kind of contaminant in my batch, and every unit had a piece or two missing. Ah, well," he added, casually examining his stubby arm, "win some, lose some, I guess."

He gestured to Milo with his stump. "Looks like the long-necks figured it all out by the time your batch came about. Kind of weird, actually. Having such a splendid specimen around, I mean. You're gonna give me one hell of an inferiority complex."

Milo flushed. "I'm sorry, Zero. I shouldn't have asked it like that. I'm a real shiny, sometimes."

"Nah, I _am_ defective," Zero replied easily. "No shame in it; it's not like I would have chosen to be defective if I'd been given an option. But I wasn't. So why pretend otherwise?"

"I guess there's no reason to."

Zero nodded, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Besides, if you're only in The Dregs because someone didn't do the right flimsi-work, I reckon it's only a matter of time before you're processed. It's more efficient than doing _more _flimsi-work to correct an error."

No response came to his mind, so Milo looked outside the cell again. How many of these clones had ever been outside this area, let alone off-planet? Had any of them gotten to swim in an ocean that was warm as bathwater, bluer than a Qiilluran daywing, and smooth as glass? Trekked through klicks and klicks of mud and briars for a few nodes of data? Eaten homemade roasted gorak and topatoes, prepared by a grateful civvie they'd helped out? Defeated swarms of invisible droids and made alliances with Weequay pirates? Danced on a boardwalk with a pretty girl?

_I'm not really a shiny, am I?_ The realization settled over him like new armor, and like new armor, it took a few moments of adjustment to insure a proper fit.

"Someone's coming."

Zero's murmur caught his attention; the older clone had approached silently to stand at Milo's side. When Milo glanced outside the cell, he saw Ward and Halligan leading a familiar clone, and his stomach twisted in an odd mixture of relief, fear and anger. "What did they do to him?"

Zero made a noncommittal noise and nudged Milo's shoulder with his stub. "Step back. It makes 'em nervous when we crowd the shield, and when Ward gets nervous, guys get stunned."

Both clones drew back to the far wall, though Milo trembled with nerves as the two guards approached. Stonewall was slung between them, hands bound behind his back, with each man grabbing beneath his arms in order to keep him moving. As far as Milo could see he was able to walk, but his steps wobbled like he was drunk.

The trio paused before the cell. While Halligan entered the lock-code, Ward's T-visor surveyed the cell's inhabitants. "No funny business, alright, Zero?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Ward," Zero replied brightly.

Ward muttered under his breath. When the energy-shield dropped, the guards dragged Stonewall a few steps in, undid the cuffs and slung his body to the floor before retreating as quickly as they'd come. The moment the shield was back in place, Milo rushed to Stonewall's side, his heart in his throat.

At first glance, the damage wasn't too bad. There were only a few physical marks – that he could see – and the fatigues Stonewall wore were clean, though they were not the ones he'd had on when they'd arrived. Bruises formed at his wrists, elbows and ankles, and there was an abrasion on his forehead; the Force-suppressing collar still clung to his neck, blinking crimson in the watery blue light of the cell. His breathing was shallow, but steady, and his pulse seemed a little fast, though not dangerously so.

But his skin was too warm and he lay on the hard floor, unmoving.

Milo would never, ever have wished this place on anyone else, but he sorely missed Weave's knowledge and medic-calm right now. "Stonewall," he said, turning the former captain onto his side. "_Vod_, can you hear me?"

In response, Stonewall's brows furrowed and he gave a pained groan, along with a noise that sounded like the name of a certain Jedi.

Milo glanced over at Zero, who still stood at the rear of the cell, watching the goings-on with an unreadable expression. "Help me get him onto a bunk."

The older clone hesitated, then came forward. He only had one arm, but it was enough; within a few moments they positioned Stonewall on the nearest bunk. Aside from a 'fresher closet, each cell had a miniature conservator, equipped with bottles of water and a few ration-bars that were apparently replenished when the clones participated in daily exercises. The moment Stonewall was settled, Milo grabbed another bottle of water and pressed it to the former captain's forehead, hoping to offer some relief. Stonewall groaned again, and his eyelids wriggled like he was trying to open his eyes.

"Come on, sir," Milo said, moving the cold bottle to Stonewall's cheek, where the wound from Ward's blaster-butt had scabbed over. "Wake up, okay? Wake up, _vod." _

At last, at long last, Stonewall's eyes cracked open. "Mi...?"

Relief, pure and sweet and absolute, rushed though Milo, and he couldn't stop himself from gripping his brother's forearm. "Yeah, it's me. Are you in pain?"

"Nah..." Stonewall trailed off, wincing, and Milo released his arm. "Maybe a little," the former captain amended. His voice was hoarse and croaky, and exhaustion was written in the dark crescents under his eyes. "And thirsty," he added, eyes falling on the bottle in Milo's hand.

Milo twisted off the cap and offered Stonewall the water, though it took a few moments to maneuver both Stonewall and the bottle so water wouldn't spill everywhere. Once he'd drunk a bit, Stonewall leaned back into the regulation-sized pillow and took a deep breath. "Thanks, Mi."

"Sure." Milo set the bottle aside and studied his former captain. He wanted to ask...well, a lot, but he thought it was better to let Stonewall rest for now. But natural curiosity would not be banished so easily. "What did they do to you?"

Light-brown eyes, same as his, opened and fell upon him. "D and P duty. Plus..." Stonewall shook his head. "Other stuff."

"Other...?"

Stonewall was quiet for a moment. "The long-necks interrogated me, Mi."

"Oh." Of course they would have interrogated him. He felt stupid all over again for bringing it up when Stonewall probably wanted nothing more than to forget. With a sigh, Milo glanced at Zero, who'd remained in his corner and was watching the two clones with what Milo could only identify now as confusion.

"Do you want to meet our cell-mate?" he asked his former captain. Stonewall's eyes flickered to the side, and he nodded, so Milo waved Zero over. The older clone hesitated, then made his way to the bunk, eying Stonewall curiously. "Stonewall, this is Zero. Zero, this is Stonewall. He's my captain." Milo sighed. "Well, former captain. No matter what, though, he's my brother."

Zero nodded once, but it was the sort of gesture a clone made when he was taking pains to be polite. "Nice to meet you."

"You too." Stonewall's eyes flickered over Zero's stump, but he made no comment. Instead, he looked back at Milo. "Those _chakaare_ didn't rough you up, did they? Are you alright?"

Despite his worries, Milo offered a comforting smile, hoping to ease any concerns that his _vod _may have had for him. "Me? Yeah, I'm good. Not a hundred-percent. More like eighty. Or seventy-three. Ish." He decided to change the subject. "Zero's been giving me intel."

"I've been telling Milo all about The Dregs," Zero supplied, shoving his hand in his pocket and rocking on his heels. "Charming place filled with fascinating specimens. I'm sure you two'll fit right in."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Creon Dai kept his words calm as he watched the flickering, hooded figure at his office's holoproj. "The unit's midichlorian count is...significant. Not as high as a Jedi's, but well above that of any other Fett clone."

"How did a _clone_ become Force-sensitive? Will it...spread to the others?"

"Unknown. There are no previous records of Force-abilities appearing in any of the other units, so it may simply be an anomaly–"

There was a sneer in Lord Tyranus' normally polished voice. "Do _not_ attempt to patronize me, Dai. I want _answers_, not scientific prattle."

A flare of annoyance moved through the Kaminoan, but he held the emotion back. Creon considered his next words, his mind racing to fill the possibilities. "Perhaps an autopsy would reveal more of how this particular unit became Force-sensitive, and whether it is something that can be transmitted to the others. Once the unit was unconscious, I performed several scans on his brain, but a closer look at the tissue might provide more concrete answers."

The Jedi was silent a moment, then shook his head slowly. "No. For now, the clone is more valuable alive – assuming it is as obedient as it should be. I want to know how extensive its abilities are. You will be provided with detailed instructions; apply those methods to the clone and report the results. In the meantime, all clone units should be tested, in order to learn if this anomaly will reappear."

"Very well." Creon paused, then leaned forward a fraction of an inch. Had he been addressing another Kaminoan, the movement would have revealed how strongly he felt about his next words, thus detracting from his credibility. The pause was minute, but laying himself so bare was unsettling. "Have you considered my latest request?"

"Do not worry, Scientist Dai," Lord Tyranus replied smoothly. "Your research proposal has garnered the attention of notable parties. If your theories on the nanogene droids are correct and the clone unit proves useful to me, you will _not_ be disappointed."

The transmission died, leaving the small office in near-darkness. Moments later, the "new message" alert on Creon's personal workstation glowed with an incoming transmission. He activated the screen and skimmed over the instructions, noting that the source was – as always – anonymous. How Lord Tyranus had even become aware of one Force-sensitive clone out of approximately three million was a mystery; Creon had no knowledge of the Jedi's plan for the clone, and he didn't care.

Included in the transmission was a series of orders to be issued through the web of Kaminoan administration, their origins muddled beyond belief of even the most seasoned bureaucrat. All Creon had to do was transmit them to the central clone command at Tipoca City, from a Kaminoan station, and they would go through unquestioned. A few swipes of his fingertips, and it was done.

But he didn't care about that, either. The credits he'd already received to handle this "anomaly" would bolster his personal projects, the ones that the administrators were unwilling to consider viable.

Their loss.

* * *

_Later, and elsewhere..._

"Rex!"

The captain froze mid-stride and swore inwardly. _Kriff. _Perhaps two inches from his hand was his office-door on the _Resolute. _He'd almost made it.

_Almost._

He turned and greeted the ARC trooper jogging toward him; thankfully, Fives was alone. "Yes?"

Fives reached him and casually leaned a hand against the office door, resting the other on his hip and regarding Rex with a raised brow. "You busy?"

"Actually, I have–"

"Because I really need your advice. Brother-to-brother."

Rex's eyes darted over Fives' pauldron, down the corridor. Was that a flash of blue and white? "Look, any other time, I'd be happy to, but as it happens, I've really got to file this report–"

But Fives cut him off with a slightly pleading look as he leaned closer, dropping his voice. "Look, it's kind of urgent. And personal." He glanced around, then whispered, "Uh...I've got _female _trouble, if you know what I mean."

Despite himself, Rex chuckled. "You always have female trouble. Did Marliss find your holo collection again?"

"Much worse." Fives grimaced. "The thing is, you and Bren have such a great thing going, and I think – I can't believe I'm about to say this – I need to know how you do it. Really romance a girl, I mean."

Of all the things Fives could have said, Rex was truly stunned by this. "You need...? Fives, what the _fek _are you on about?"

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, but Fives grabbed his arm, drawing the captain's gaze. "I know, I know, a talented, handsome, galaxy-class, ARC trooper like myself should be able to keep his own lady satisfied, but kriff it all if I just need a little help in this one particular area – NOW!"

"What the–"

Rex was cut off as two pairs of hands grabbed his arms, pinning them to his side, while a third pair stabbed a needle into his karking neck. He winced as blood was extracted, and the moment they let him go, he rounded on the four traitors.

Coric, Kix and Jesse – and Fives – met his glare head-on, and if he'd not been so incredibly ticked off with his _vode, _he would have been proud at their mettle. "What. The. _Fek?"_

Coric held up a vial of his blood. "You were the last one."

"The deadline is in an _hour," _Kix added with his own glare. "We _told _you it would be quick. We gave you lots of time to overcome your," Rex arched his brow and Kix sighed, "your _thing_ about needles."

"I don't have a _thing _about needles," Rex muttered.

Coric and Kix exchanged glances but said nothing. Fives smirked.

Rex rolled his eyes, then cast a dark look between Jesse and Fives, the former of whom had the decency to look chagrined. "They're medics, at least," Rex said. "They have an excuse. What about you two?"

Jesse shook his head. "Kix asked me to help. And you have to admit, you kind of brought it on yourself when you stormed out of the medbay yesterday."

"I told you, I had a very important meeting with General Skywalker."

"I don't think arguing over bolo-ball scores counts as a meeting," Coric muttered.

Rex rubbed his forehead, then looked at Fives, again leaning against the door to the refuge of Rex's office. "And you?"

The ARC trooper shrugged. "I was bored."

"Well, it doesn't matter now," Kix broke in, tucking the vial into the safety of his belt-pouch. "Torrent Company's all sampled; I doubt they'll find any trace of contaminants in our blood, but I suppose it's better to be safe than sorry. I'll get everything sent off to Kamino, and hopefully we'll stop getting those angry 'alert' messages."

He added a knowing look at Rex, who scowled, but didn't push the issue. Coric slapped his back, then indicated the direction of the mess hall. "The good news is, standard procedure after having a blood sample taken is to get a snack, to keep your blood sugar balanced."

Fives' eyes lit up. "I could _definitely _go for something sweet."

Rex regarded his men, though all of his annoyance had fled. It was impossible for him to be too angry with them for long, and besides, he knew Brenna would get a kick out of the story later on. So he nodded, adding a wry, half-smile. "Me too. Let's go."

"What about your filing?" Fives said, nudging his armored side as the five clones began to make their way down the _Resolute's _corridor. Rex rolled his eyes and lightly punched his brother on the arm.

"Do they really think our blood could be contaminated?" Jesse asked as they walked. "Isn't that the sort of thing the long-necks should have figured out by now?"

Kix considered. "Might just be a new procedure."

"They've never done anything like this, though," Coric replied, frowning in consideration. "Even before the Wars."

"_Obviously_, it's just a ruse to count the good captain's midichlorians," Fives said, though he yelped a moment later as Rex mock-swung at him. "Hey, it was a kriffing joke! Fek, you're touchy today."

"I wonder why?" Rex replied. "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my own _vode _plotted an ambush to steal my kriffing blood."

Fives chuckled and clapped his back. "Hey, it was for a good cause."

* * *

A/N: If you went "huh?" at the mentions of Brenna and Marliss, don't worry. You're not crazy; they're OCs from my Captain Rex duology: _The Fighting Kind_ and _Worth Fighting For_. If you like clone/OC romances, check 'em out. :)

On a similar note, in my head-canon, Fives LIVES. Dammit. [cries]

Zero's "waste not" comment is a nod to the lovely and talented _spikala_'s fic of the same name. She's done more with Kamino than anyone, and it's all incredible. ;)

Next time: back to Corrie!


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: This chapter references events that take place in the fics, _What Remains, _and_ Untouchable._

Lyrics: "(Still A) Weirdo," by KT Tunstall, on _Tiger Suit_.

* * *

**Chapter Seven **

_Now I know, I took for granted,_

_That things would always go the way I wanted._

_I was going to be a treetop,  
A sea, a boat, a rock of ages._

_I don't always get it right._  
_I see it in a different kind of light._

_ Meanwhile..._

"Mind telling us what's really going on, General?"

Still keeping her hands on the airspeeder's steering yoke, Kalinda looked between the three men who'd essentially signed their own arrest warrants to follow her to Kamino. To an outsider, three identical pairs of eyes regarded her; three men with the same facial structure, the same blood. Alike in every way.

Luckily, Kali knew better.

Aside from their different hairstyles – or, in Crest's case, lack thereof – the remaining members of Shadow Squad were unique, and while she loved Stonewall and wanted to share her life with him, she loved each of these men in another way. Crest could always make her laugh, always knew how to keep everyone smiling, even if sometimes he went too far; Weave's steadfast care for each member of Shadow Squad had kept them all alive at one time or another, and his brilliant mind never failed to surprise her; Traxis, fiercely loyal, aggressively vigilant, and relentless in his quest to ensure everyone had the means to protect themselves. Though he was absent, Milo's unflagging optimism and sweet nature never failed to show her the brighter side of even the darkest situation.

They were good soldiers and better men, and Kali hated letting them down. Right now, she didn't need the Force to tell her they were upset with her, borderline angry, and it had nothing to do with the Corrie Guards most assuredly still searching for them. The steam billowing out of the factory's vent concealed their airspeeder and she knew they could not be tracked, now, but it was not safe to have the necessary conversation in the open.

"Not here," she said at last, revving the airspeeder and considering their options. "We're sitting nunas."

Weave and Crest exchanged glances; Traxis' brow creased and he looked outside the window, away from his brothers. He did not look at Kali, though she wished he would. Once she made sure the way was clear, she eased the airspeeder out of the column of steam and maneuvered toward the nearest traffic-lanes, hoping to further lose any potential pursuers. None followed, so she gave a relieved sigh and began to make for the necessary exit that would take them to CoCo Town.

At last the medic nodded and tucked Stonewall's lightsaber – her old one – back in his duffel bag. "Where are we going?"

Kali glanced at him, a smile tugging at her mouth despite everything else. "To see an old friend."

* * *

It had been many years since Kali had set foot in Dex's Diner. By the time she and the guys reached CoCo Town, it was well into the dinner rush and the place was packed. The door hissed open and the scent of greasy sliders assaulted Kali as she and the clones filed inside. A blonde woman in a short, blue dress approached; her eyes roamed over the clone soldiers with interest before landing on Kali.

"Welcome to Dex's! Table for four?"

Kali nodded and the waitress indicated they should follow. She led them past booths of chattering patrons until they reached a large, rounded one in the far corner; it was the only booth free, and Kali was relieved it was out of sight of the windows and door. They'd made it all the way here without any more trouble, but she knew better than to get complacent. No doubt Fox would call the Council and an alert would be issued for what remained of Shadow Squad – herself included.

As everyone took a seat, the waitress activated the menu, the projection appearing from a node affixed to the table's side, then whipped out a stylus from a garter she wore at her upper thigh. "I'm Hermione. You all need a few minutes to look over the menu?"

Kali glanced between the guys. Trax and Weave were studying the holographic menu, while Crest seemed torn between following their lead and admiring Hermione's ample charms, visible over the low-cut neckline of her uniform.

The Jedi nodded and indicated the table. "Let's start off with some caf and water. And would you please tell Dex that Kamala is here to see him?"

Hermione's eye lit up and she gave Kali a knowing wink. "Sure thing, hon. Be right back."

Once she'd gone, the guys all looked at Kali with confusion. "'Kamala?'" Weave said, frowning.

"It's a pseudonym I used to use, a long time ago," Kali explained. "I think Dex should remember."

Beside her, Crest glanced around, twisting his head to take in the diner and its many patrons. The large number of diners and the buzz of conversations gave Dex's a feeling of anonymity, and other than a few sideways glances, no one had paid much attention to the Jedi or the clones. It helped that she'd made them leave their weapons in the speeder, though she figured Trax had a few blades and smaller blasters tucked in his kit. Thank the Force the clone soldiers were becoming a common sight on Coruscant, though Kali wasn't sure what that boded for the planet.

But for now, she chose to be grateful. Kali exhaled and leaned into the padded seat, feeling a little calmer already. Dex's had always been somewhere she felt safe.

She nodded to the menu. "I've got some cash. Order whatever you want."

Crest cleared his throat. "Boss, I think what we'd all like best is a little clarification about the day's madcap adventures. Though, I have to say, those podpoppers look pretty kriffing tasty."

"Fair enough." Taking a moment to gather her calm, Kali took a deep breath. "Stonewall is Force-sensitive."

Clinking plates and diner chatter filled the air around them, but the clones were silent, staring. Crest and Weave wore expressions of shock, while Traxis' face held a kind of annoyed resignation. She considered reaching out through the Force to sense their underlying emotions, then thought better of it. Her energies were probably better spent keeping her own feelings in check. She began to fiddle with the napkin around her flatware and continued.

"It started during all that craziness on Aruna." She felt Crest tense beside her at the mention of that planet, but she continued as if she hadn't noticed. "We're not sure how, or why. All we know is that...when we fell in love – and admitted it – something...broke open inside of _me_ and changed _him _inthis way."

Heat suffused her cheeks at the words; it all sounded so improbable, but truth was stranger than fiction, at least in this case. Memories of her and Stonewall's time on Aruna filled her mind, and her fingers trembled as a sudden swell of loss overtook her, sharp enough to cut her in two. _He's gone, and he's never coming back..._

_No. That won't happen. I won't _let_ it happen. _

She fought back the ache, fought to hold herself together. Once she was sure her voice wouldn't betray her, she set down the flatware, put her hands in her lap, and continued. "That was about eight months ago. Since then, I've been training him as much as possible. He's not very strong with the Force – nowhere near a Jedi – but he's capable of quite a lot."

Her hand brushed her old saber, which she'd taken back from Weave before they'd entered the diner. It was strange to wear it again, beside her father's, but the weapon was too valuable to leave unguarded in the airspeeder; even without the Adegan crystal that gave life to the energy blade, a Jedi-made lightsaber hilt could earn thousands of creds on the black market.

She couldn't decided if the added weight was a comfort, or another, more tangible reminder of her husband's absence.

"We both decided not to tell you," she added. "At the time, we thought it was for the best. There was, and still is, so much we don't understand about the whole thing." She paused and studied her hands, twining with her robes. There was a charred mark on the hem of her tunic where she'd missed getting struck by one of Fox's men's blaster-bolts, and her skin was itchy with dried sweat. She needed a shower and a change of clothes.

But she'd pretty much broken the terms of her probation the minute she'd used the Force on Podge to get a speeder, not to mention everything that had followed. Kali realized she could probably not go back to the Temple even if she wanted to set foot there again.

She looked back up at the guys, gauging their reactions. Crest's brows had practically hit the place his hairline should've been; Weave was frowning in that thoughtful way of his, idly rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Traxis' arms were crossed before his chest and his expression was grim. Now she reached out to them through the Force and found a tangle of emotions, _hurt _being chiefly among them, along with confusion and sadness. There were also traces of distrust, faint, but enough to cause another swell of grief and regret within her.

"Neither myself or Stone meant to hurt any of you by keeping this secret," she said quietly. "Like I said, we made the decision because we thought it was for the best. But for what it's worth, I'm really sorry."

To her humiliation, an all-too familiar heat pricked her eyes, and she looked down, blinking hard. _Stupid kriffing hormones. Isn't it a little early for this? _But she knew it was more than the pregnancy; the stress and fear of the day was catching up, so she reached within herself and drew on her Jedi-training to keep her calm. Later, when she was alone and things were more settled, she could relent. Now, she had to be strong.

"'We?'" She glanced at Traxis, who now regarded her with a faint frown. "You said 'we made the decision.'"

"Yes."

"But that's not what he said when–" The scarred clone snapped his jaw shut, but it was too late.

Weave and Crest looked at him, shock written on their faces. "You knew?" Weave said, leaning forward.

"It happened on Balasi," Kali replied, drawing the others' gazes, though Trax scowled. "You guys – and Milo – were in the Caprin, while me, Trax and Stone went to find Omree. We were ambushed by droids and Stonewall..."

She trailed off at the memory of Stonewall cutting down the droids with her old saber, the one he'd been practicing with for a few months now. Kriff, he was good, and in between her attempts to keep the Iktotchi youngling calm, she'd realized Stone had reached a point with his lightsaber combat where he needed a better teacher than her.

"He used the Force," she finished, shaking away the thoughts. "It was the only way to protect us all. But Traxis saw him."

"And _you_ didn't tell us, either," Crest said quietly, glancing at the scarred clone. "Kriff, are we that useless, _vod_?"

Kali's heart stung, and she felt a similar pang from Traxis in the Force; Crest's hurt was plainly written on his normally jovial face. Weave's eyes had fallen to the table, and he, too, seemed at a loss.

"Of-fekking-course not!" Traxis sat up, balling his fists and shooting a glare at Kali, though his words were directed at his brothers. He sighed again, and rubbed his scar. "I'm effing sorry, okay? But it just...wasn't my secret to tell."

Weave was quiet a moment, then glanced at Kali again. "You have no idea _how_? It's just so...strange."

"It's unheard of," she said, nodding. "But it happened, and we tried to deal with it as best we could."

"So that's why he was taken? Because he's," Crest dropped his voice to a whisper, "Force-sensitive?"

The beginnings of a headache prickled at her scalp, so Kali took a deep, trembling breath to stave off the pain. "I don't know for certain, but it's the most logical assumption. He's not done anything to warrant imprisonment." _Unless it's against regs to impregnate your general. Probably. _"He seemed to think that was the reason, the last time he contacted me."

The guys frowned in confusion, so she explained the brief contact she'd had with Stonewall before their conversation was cut short. That was perhaps the most worrying aspect; he never would have ended the contact prematurely and not tried to reach her again unless something very bad had happened. She hadn't been able to speak to him again, though she'd managed to find the threads of love that bound them in the Force, which assured her that he was still alive.

"But _we _didn't even know," Crest said with a frown. "Who else does?"

Kali shook her head. "No one that would've had him arrested."

"Not even the Council?" Weave asked. "Objectively speaking, they probably have the most interest in a clone developing Force-abilities."

An icy knot formed in Kali's gut at the mention of the Council, but she didn't reply, as Hermione returned with water and caf. "Dex is frying up a new batch of Tapani triangles, but he says he'll be right out."

Kali thanked her and reached for a water, savoring the cool trickle down her throat. The others took cups as well, pouring out caf, adding sugar and cream to suit their tastes. As he stirred his cup, Crest glanced at Kali again. "Makes sense, I guess. The captain's been remarkably capable lately."

She frowned and the bald clone winced. "I didn't mean that to come out quite so...farkled. Stonewall's always capable, but he's been...really on the bolo-ball lately, you know? Faster, stronger, that kind of thing."

"I know what you mean," she said.

Weave sipped his water and shook his head. "But _how_? I didn't think the Force could be transmitted like...a disease or something."

"I dunno, _vod; _foot-in-mouth-disease seems pretty contagious today," Crest broke in. "Right, Trax?" Traxis rolled his eyes and Weave flushed. The sight lifted Kali's spirits, because it signaled that, while the tension between the clones had not dissipated, it had eased a little.

"What I want to know," Traxis said after a beat, "is _when_ we're going to Kamino to spring him and Mi."

Crest sat up, eyes bright with excitement. "Ditto. If we're going to go AWOL, let's do it one-hundred-kriffing-percent."

"It won't be easy," Weave said, frowning thoughtfully. "After that stunt at the barracks, our escape, plus Crest's limpet-removal _and_ the mods I made to our gear...we've violated about a dozen regs. I doubt we'll be able to use the _Wayfarer_ any more, so we'll have to find some other way to get to Kamino." He looked at Kali, and she marveled at how calm he seemed, despite the truth of what he was telling her. "You may be on probation, but by now we're surely wanted men, General, and that makes everything extremely complicated. I don't know how much help we'll be."

"Speak for yourself," Trax said, rolling his eyes. "Who the fek cares about regs anymore? Stonewall and Milo need our help. That's all there is to it."

On a whim, Kali reached for each clone's hands, and clasped them together on the table as best she could. "I never expected to love Stonewall," she told them, looking at each man in turn. "I never thought I'd find anyone I could love like I love your brother. I hoped it, but I never quite believed. But the other thing I never expected, not in a thousand years, was to find men like you, men I love like," she squeezed their hands, "like family."

Not until she said the words did she realize their truth, and she had to smile at the expressions of shock that played across Weave and Crest's faces as they looked between their hands and hers. After a moment, she felt another measure of calm wash over her. She was not alone; she had a family again, odd though they may have been. How strange was the Force, to have brought them all together this way.

Crest found his voice first. "Really, Boss?"

She released their hands to take a sip of water. "Yes, Crest. And just 'Kalinda' or 'Kali,' now, please. I'm not your 'boss' any longer."

"Hmmm. Good point." The bald clone considered something, then gave her a grin. "Careful what you say, Kalinda. Next thing you know, we'll be calling you '_vod_' and not bothering to hide our farts anymore."

Kali rolled her eyes. "You don't hide your farts _now."_

"Ah, kriff!" Crest threw up his hands in mock-annoyance. "I knew I've been forgetting something..."

Weave and Kali exchanged amused looks, and she was relieved to see that the medic was smiling. Traxis' expression had retreated to a stony mask, though he'd made a gruff noise of acknowledgment to her speech. Calmer now than she'd been all day, Kali reached out to him through the Force, and was startled to find him crackling with anger, though the emotion was leashed tight. She tried to get him to meet her eyes, but he resolutely looked at the menu.

"I thought it was you! Rings and moons, girl, give me a hug!" A broad hand thumped her back, almost knocking the wind out of her, but she felt a grin split her face anyway, and sprang out of her seat to hug the four-armed Besalisk. He smelled of cooking oil and cigarras, but his embrace engulfed her, and was strong enough to lift her off of her feet. For a moment she was seventeen again, and was reminded of the many nights she'd spent sneaking out of the Temple and running all over CoCo Town, very often winding up at Dex's Diner.

Kali hugged him back as tightly as she could. "Hi, Dex. It's been a long time."

"Not so long, by my count," he said, setting her down and winking at her. "I see you brought some...friends." He cast a look at the three clone troopers at her table, and his warm gaze sharpened as they straightened out of habit, as they did whenever they felt they were being inspected.

"Weave, Traxis and Crest," Kali supplied, indicating each man. "Guys, this is my old friend, Dexter Jettster."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Crest said, while Weave and Trax nodded.

If Dex thought it odd that she'd brought clone troopers with her, he said nothing. Instead, he smiled at the clone. Besalisk smiles were a little unsettling, as their mouths were wide and their teeth sharp, but on Dex the expression retained a measure of warmth. "You boys hungry? I just had a six-top change their order at the last minute, so there's a stack of Giju sliders and a pile of protato wedges that need a good home. On the house."

Trax nodded, while Crest rubbed his stomach. "I think we can find a place to store those for you, sir."

"Actually..." Weave's ears reddened but he pushed on. "Do you have something a little less...uh...heavy?"

"It's _free_ food," Trax broke in. "Just enjoy it for once without effing worrying about what's in it."

Weave frowned at the scarred clone, but Dex gave a rumbling chuckle, his throat-pouch flaring with amusement. "Sure, sure. Got a fresh order of Opee sea killer fillet. I'll grill one up; add a little roonan lemon and some black hole pepper...it'll tilt your galaxy, I promise."

"That sounds great, thank you," Weave said, clearly relieved.

"Plus it means more for you and me, _vod_," Crest replied, nudging Trax's side.

Dex glanced back at Kali. "You still like Shili cheese dogs, right?" He shot Crest a wink. "With extra B'omarr pickles _and_ tibanna splits to finish. She'd inhale the stuff; I thought she'd turn _into_ a beebleberry."

"It was too delicious _not_ to stuff my face," Kali said with a laugh, though the mention of one of her former favorite foods turned her stomach a little. Besides, despite the fact that the guys were hungry, she had not brought them here just to eat. "But I think I'm in the mood for something simple today. Do you have lipana tea?"

She added a slight incline of her head towards the back of the diner, hoping he'd get the hint. Dex considered her, than nodded slowly. "Good question," he said, straightening. "Hermione cleaned the stockroom, so now I can't find a kriffing thing. Help an old codger look around?"

He turned and began to lumber toward the kitchen; Kali, still standing, glanced at her men. "I'll be right back. Save me a few protato wedges, just in case."

"Will do, General," Weave said, though he winced. "I mean...Kalinda."

By now the dinner rush had cleared out a bit, so it was easy to follow Dex to the rear of the diner, where the storeroom was located. It was a relatively tiny space, particularly for a full-grown, four armed Besalisk male, but he moved with his own kind of grace. Kali met him at the door and watched for a moment as he peered through the various shelves, each stuffed with boxes of supplies.

"We do have the tea," he said as she approached. He indicated a small box that he'd already set aside on a crate by the door. "Hermione said she'd bring your troopers their dinner, by the way."

She thanked him, and he plucked an unmarked box from the shelf and sniffed it, then cast her a sideways glance. "I heard about Obi-Wan. It's..." He frowned, and the crest that ran along his skull flattened with sorrow. "A damn shame," he said at last, shaking his head. "He was one of the good ones."

"He was one of the best," Kali replied.

She picked up the tea and studied the label with unseeing eyes. There was so much she needed to do, beginning with filling in her old friend, but suddenly she felt so heavy, like a huge weight had pressed itself upon her chest. The distant clangs and clatters of the kitchen seemed to echo in her ears, and it was hard to take a proper breath.

Kali blinked against her blurring vision. "I still can't believe he's gone."

The Besalisk regarded her with eyes that missed nothing. "How're you holdin' up, kiddo?"

She could not remember the last time someone had called her that. Her face heated, the tears she'd held back before broke free and began to slide down the sides of her nose. Embarrassed at her weakness, yet utterly heartsick, she ducked her head, wishing she could vanish into the floor. Just for a moment. Just until she could pick herself back up.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to no one in particular. Her grip on the box of tea tightened, strong enough to bend the corners.

Dex's embrace was gentle this time. Four strong, slightly greasy arms surrounded her, and his voice was steady. "Never understood how they expected a kid to go through what you did, and not cry every now and again," he said after a moment. "I know that Council of yours is wise and holy and all, but sometimes I wonder if they don't share one portion of common-sense between the lot of them."

Despite herself, Kali laughed, though Dex's words cast a dagger of fear in her heart, for they reminded her of Weave's speculation and her own growing fears. It was surely no coincidence that Stonewall had been taken during her dressing-down, when she was unable to sense his distress until it was too late.

But that would mean...

_No, _she thought, wiping at her eyes. _Mace would've told me if they were going to take him away. _Her former master was many things, but he'd never hesitated to be as blunt with her as he could. Directness was his favored approach; it'd made her life miserable on more than one occasion, but it was, in a strange way, reassuring to know exactly where she stood.

Anyway, it didn't matter so much now _who _had given the order to arrest Stonewall; her main concern at the moment was finding a way to free him and Milo. Beyond that, she had a duty to the three men in the diner, who were hopefully eating their weight in protato wedges by now. Thinking of the guys brought her another measure of calm and helped her focus on the tasks directly before of her. She rubbed away the last of her tears and glanced up at Dex, who released her from his embrace.

"May I use your comm? I need to make a few calls," she said as she tried to smooth out the crushed corners on the box of tea.

"I can help you out, but the Order must be pretty hard-up if you can't use their comms," he said wryly.

"I'm not...on friendly terms with the Council right now," she replied. "Or the GAR, for that matter. The same goes for the guys." She gave Dex a knowing look. "It's been one of those days."

"Sounds it." The Besalisk crossed two of his arms, while using one hand to scratch his head, and the other to scratch his _shebs. _Despite the casual gestures, his gaze on her was canny. "I know that look. You're planning something."

"I'm trying to. But I need some information, first, and I need..." Kali blew out a breath in thought. "Well, let's start with a ship-for-hire. Is Elek still around?"

The Togruta male was a bounty hunter and mutual acquaintance, another friend Kali had made in her adventurous teen years. Dex's crest perked up. "Elek's retired, but he can probably point you in the right direction. I've got his contact info somewhere..." He trailed off and regarded her again. "No Temple, no GAR...where are you and those boys going to sleep tonight, kiddo?"

_Kriffing hell. _"That's...a good question." She tucked the tea box under her arm and smoothed her hand down her braid, which was, naturally, starting to unravel. "I have some creds; enough for a few night's board somewhere cheap, like in the Factory District."

But Dex's head was shaking, his throat-pouch flaring with annoyance. "Not if I have anything to say about it. Tell you what; a couple years ago, I got a bit of a windfall, so I bought a few apartments in Taung Heights. Figured I'd rent 'em out, make that money back and then some. One's vacant right now. The last tenant left it a little rough around the edges, but it'd be a roof over your head until you get your varactyls in a row."

"That would be wonderful." She offered a slight bow out of long-ingrained habit before digging around her belt for her cred sticks. "I can't pay you much, but–"

Dex waved her creds away. "Don't even think about it, Kali. I'm happy to help an old friend. Besides, you made me a ton of money back in the day, with that music of yours."

She was not too proud to feel relief at his words. Aside from her meager cred supply, she had only one other source of income, but those funds would need to serve another purpose. As they discussed the details, reality sank in further, hard and cold, and Kali realized how utterly dependent she'd been on the Jedi Order. The guys, too; no longer could they easily replace any lost weapons or armor, and she wondered if they truly understood what they'd given up for Stonewall and Milo. Without access to the Temples funds or the GAR's resources, life was going to be a lot more kriffing complicated.

Once she and Dex finished speaking, Kalinda turned back for the diner, box of tea in one hand, and made her way to the table where the clones were happily tearing through their dinner. A steaming mug of water awaited her, along with a small plate piled high with protato wedges.

As she approached, Crest looked up, grinned and gestured to the plate. "Get 'em before Trax does."

The scarred clone glowered, but seemed content to take a bite of his slider, while Weave worked his way through his fillet. Kali smiled at Crest, and took her seat again. After she set a tea bag to steep in the mug, she selected a protato wedge. It was salty and warm, and actually hit the spot.

"So, what's our next move?" Traxis asked.

Chuckling, Crest reached for another slider. "More thrilling heroics, no doubt."

"First things first," Kali said. "Dex has a place we can crash for a few nights, and I need to make a few calls."

Weave nodded. "Oh! I remembered, I have a few shower kits and extra fatigues in my pack, in case anyone wants to clean up."

"Are you suggesting that I stink?" Crest's face was a study in mock-astonishment. "Because that's just plain mean."

Weave set down his glass of water and gave the bald clone a chiding look. "It's not _all _about you, Crest." He paused, then allowed a half-smile to cross his face. "Traxis doesn't smell too great, either."

"Yeah? Come over here and say that."

Crest put a hand to his ear. "What's that, _Trax'ika_? I didn't hear you with your mouth full."

The banter continued, somehow turning into a bolo-ball debate after a few minutes, all of which assured Kali that the clones had worked through their problems, at least for now. Traxis still didn't really look at her, but that was okay. She would talk to him later, after she comm'd everyone, and maybe taken a shower...

"Look, I'm just saying, if Dremm keeps up their streak, Eltair won't have a fardling chance."

Crest snorted. "Yeah, well, Eltair's got heart, which is what counts. Dremm's too corporate."

As they bickered good-naturedly, Kali took a deep breath and allowed her worry to wash through her, releasing it into the Force. She could handle this. She _would. _

One step at a time.


	9. Chapter 8

Note: Events and characters from the fics _What Remains _and _Untouchable _are referenced in this chapter.

Lyrics: "Home," by Zero 7, from _When It Falls._

* * *

**Chapter Eight **

_Wrapped in silent elegance._

_Beautifully broken down, _

_As illusions pass._

_Too late to learn from experience._

_Too late to wonder how to finish first._

_Take me somewhere we can be alone._

_Take me somewhere I can call a home._

_'Cause lately, I've been losing all my own._

_A few minutes earlier..._

The moment the boss – _kriff, Kalinda_ – was out of sight, Crest glared at Traxis. "Will you cool your jets?"

"What the fek are you talking about?"

"You've been so...harsh to her," Crest replied, frowning. "Kriff, Trax, can't you see she's got a lot on her plate? Can't you stop being a kark for two seconds and act like a decent Human?"

Traxis crossed his arms before his chest and returned the glare, threefold. It was much more impressive coming from his scarred face. "My question still stands."

Crest sighed and leaned back in the padded booth, rubbing his temple. "She poured her heart out to us and you just...grunted. Like a damn Gamorrean. You do remember that she sprang us from what was basically prison, right?"

"I remember." Trax's eyes tightened. "Trust me."

"What the _shab_ is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Weave cleared his throat. "Both of you, tone it down. The kits stand out enough as it is, and we're starting to get some funny looks."

Three jaws snapped shut, three hands reached almost in unison for their drinks, and for a few minutes, no one said a word. To Crest, the uneasy quiet between the three men reminded him of the mood right before an enemy air-strike; you just knew that any second, something would explode and blow the whole place to _osik. _He cast a quick glance around, but none of the other diner patrons seemed to care about the clones any longer.

So he looked back at his _vode, _specifically the scarred, grouchy one with a massive chip on his shoulder. "You're pissed at her."

Traxis took a sip of his caf. "So?"

"So? She's on our side, _vod,_" Crest replied, frowning. "And we're kind of all each other has right now."

The scarred clone considered the dark depths of his caf, then gave a surprisingly weary sigh. "Funny. I thought you were pissed at me for some _other_ reason."

It was a clear ruse to change the subject, but Crest decided to play along, in part because he had a feeling he wouldn't get very far by continuing to pry Trax, and in part because, yeah...he was still kind of ticked off. "That's right," he said, sitting up and looking at Weave. "You kept a pretty fardling big secret from your brothers."

"To be fair," Weave broke in, "it seems like it was dumb luck that he found out at all."

A dark look crossed Trax's face but he nodded. "Look, I made a promise. And you both know I keep my word." He grimaced. "Fek, it's a pain in the _shebs _sometimes to be like that."

Crest chuckled, but he was still uneasy. Everyone was entitled to his privacy, but the whole suddenly-Force-sensitive situation went a little past "private." Why hadn't Stonewall felt comfortable to share that kind of life-altering thing with his _vode_?

Well, there was really only one way to find out: ask the man himself. One more reason to spring him and Mi from Kamino.

"I wonder how they're doing," Weave said suddenly, causing the others to look his way. The medic's eyes were distant as he toyed with the condensation on his water glass.

Traxis hands balled into fists again. "I fekking hate this," he growled. "Sitting around, _waiting. _I know it's all we can do right now, but it feels wrong to be chatting in a diner while our _vode _are on a ship to Kamino."

"Hey," Crest put a hand on Trax's shoulder, "I'm one-hundred percent committed to getting Milo and Stonewall back where they belong, and you're not the only guy around here who keeps his word."

"Same here," Weave added, sitting up. "We may not be welcome in the army any longer, but we're still Shadow Squad. We still have each other."

A new voice broke the three clones out of their conversation. "You boys sure look like you're havin' one kriff of a talk." As the waitress spoke, she set down plates of food in front of each man, and Crest's mouth started to water at the sight – and smell – of the Giju sliders. Weave's fillet looked pretty good, too, as did the veritable mountain of fried protato wedges.

Once Hermione had set down a mug of steaming water, likely for the boss' tea, she swept her blue eyes over the clones. "Can I getcha anything else?"

She was pretty, and Crest liked her style, but there was only one woman for him, even though she was a galaxy away in more ways than one. Even so, he was not above a little mild flirting. "Nothing on the menu," he told her, adding a wink for good measure. "But thanks for the offer."

"Sure thing," she replied, grinning. "Just let me know."

With that, she sashayed off, hips swaying. With a sigh, Crest turned back to his dinner, intent on giving it his full attention. Flirting with the blue-eyed waitress reminded him of flirting with another woman, one who was far, far out of his reach. Probably as far away as anyone could be. It was odd, though, as he generally tried not to torture himself by thinking of _her. _Maybe the boss' mention of Aruna had brought those memories to the surface.

The clones descended on their dinner with a single-minded intensity, and by the time their Jedi returned, Crest decided life looked a lot better with a full stomach.

* * *

_Later..._

From his place behind General Halcyon – Kalinda – Weave glanced around the corridor. More than a few chips marred the tile floor, and the ceiling lights flickered every so often. But the hallway was empty and the trip to Taung Heights from Dex's Diner had been quiet, so he hoped most of the trouble was behind them.

At least for the immediate future.

Crest and Traxis had insisted on doing a recon of the Besalisk's apartment, and while Kalinda didn't seem to think it was necessary, she'd not argued. Both clones were inside now, checking over every nook and cranny, so Weave had elected to keep his former general company.

However, she did not appear to be in a talking mood. Her eyes were closed, her head ducked, her hands curled at her sides, all of which indicated she was trying to use the Force, possibly to contact the captain. Judging by her frown, Weave didn't think she was succeeding.

But there was more to it than that. Weave was most familiar with other clones, but he'd come to read the dark-haired woman fairly well, at least enough to know when something was...off about her. It was not a guess, but rather an assessment made by a medic who knew his patient was hiding something. She'd hardly eaten her dinner, and Kalinda generally had a healthy appetite. And last week, he'd heard her get sick on more than a few mornings, though she'd insisted she was fine...

Since he'd started working so closely with a Human female Jedi, Weave had made it a point to learn what he could about female biology. He wasn't an expert, but he was familiar enough with the basics. However, when a particular thought occurred to him, he shook away the speculation almost at once. Sure it was _possible_, but that was the kind of thing he wanted to be sure about before he started asking her too many questions.

_Shab. If she _is _pregnant..._

His chest ached in sympathy for her and Stonewall. He hoped it wasn't true; it would only make things harder for them both, especially if the worst should come to pass. It was an awful thing to think about, but as a medic, he couldn't ignore the reality of any given situation, no matter how grim.

Weave fought back a grimace, lest his emotions reach the Jedi beside him and add to her troubles.

So they waited in silence. But silence was good sometimes, especially with so much weighing on them both that it was hard to know how to even _begin_ dissecting it all, and he was mentally drained from the day's events. A glance at his chrono told him it'd been just over four hours since Stonewall and Milo were arrested. _Four hours. _It felt like longer.

Kalinda's head lifted a moment before Crest appeared in the apartment's doorway. "Looks clear," the bald clone said, thumbing toward the interior. "Whoever was here last left a bed, a couch, and a bunch of other stuff, too. Only one of us should have to sleep on the floor."

Weave had a hand-held ionic sterilizer in his kit; he decided to run it over everything he could, just in case the place's previous tenants had not been clean. He was also thankful he'd thought to grab a few extra shower kits while they were back at the Corrie Guard barracks; no doubt everyone would want to wash.

Kalinda thanked Crest and stepped inside. During their recon, Crest and Trax had turned on every light in the place and opened every door, closet and cupboard, so Weave could see that whomever had left here last had done so in a hurry. Judging from the imprints on the beige carpet, it looked as if all the smaller pieces of furniture had been removed, leaving a large couch and armchair in the main room, along with a knocked-over lamp. A small, round dining table and four chairs – one with a broken leg – sat on one end of the main room, opposite the couch. Pieces of flimsi littered the carpet, along with a few small burn-marks, and there was a thin layer of dust over the kitchen counters. When Weave peeked into the single bedroom, he saw a bed, outfitted with a single pillow and sheet, and the air stank of stale cigarras.

Well, this was better than nothing. It wasn't like they could go back to the barracks, anyway. Or the _Wayfarer._ Weave grimaced at the realization; he'd _just_ restocked his entire cache of meds, bacta, and other supplies. Now they'd have to make do with what he carried. He and his brothers would have to pool their resources to figure out what they'd have to do without.

Kalinda wasted no time with surveying the small quarters. Once the door was locked, she strode to the couch and activated the small, long-range holocomm that Dex had provided, one that was, according to the Besalisk, untraceable by most authorities. Weave had to wonder what sort of fellow needed a comlink like that, but Kalinda trusted him, so he didn't ask. Given the events of the day, Shadow Squad was, he realized, _precisely_ who would need an untraceable means of communication.

While the Jedi waited for the link to take hold, Weave urged his brothers toward the table; the three of them took a seat and began going through their respective kits, piling everything together in an organized heap.

Once his supplies were empty, Crest regarded the room with a mixture of interest and disdain. "Is this really how most civvies live?"

"Don't get your sensibilities offended, Baldy," Trax said. He'd taken charge of the ammo, setting it in neat rows by type. "Isn't there some saying about choosy beggars?"

"Something like that," Weave replied, eying the medkits. He wasn't the only one who'd thought to restock at the barracks, thank the Force. _Not too bad, considering. Not great, but not too bad. _"And Crest, you know a lot of our missions have involved pretty wealthy or influential folks. Maybe you're spoiled."

The bald clone rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to reply, but his jaw snapped shut as their Jedi began to speak.

"Hello, Sita. It's Kali. I know you're probably busy, but I need to speak with you the moment you're able. I'll send my contact details at the end of this message. Thank you."

She shut off the link, took a breath and began to enter another code, sitting straight once more as the holoimager scanned her form. The link caught, but the ensuing melody that played indicated the receiver of the call was busy, so Kalinda cleared her throat in preparation of leaving another message, which sounded almost identical to the first, except that she'd comm'd Ro Arhen, a Jedi that Shadow Squad had worked with several months ago.

A third call was made. By now, Weave and the others had dropped all pretense of not listening, and had turned to give the Jedi their full attention. This call went through. A Togruta male appeared, perhaps edging past his middle years, and greeted Kalinda with uncertainty.

"Kalinda...?"

The Jedi gave a small wave. "Hi, Elek."

Some of the uncertainty faded from the Togruta's face as he smiled back, his graceful montrals bobbing with the movement of his nod. "It's been a long time, Kali."

"Too long," she agreed. "How are you?"

Elek shrugged. "Can't complain. I was able to retire about five years ago, so I've been enjoying life on Glee Anselm like I always wanted." His words were polite, but careful, like he was waiting for the other boot to drop.

As if sensing this, Kalinda cleared her throat and leaned forward. "I'm glad to hear it. I don't want to keep you long, but I had a question, and Dex was kind enough to give me your contact information."

Weave thought the mention of the Besalisk – a mutual acquaintance, by his own reckoning – was meant to set Elek at ease, and it seemed to work. The Togruta nodded for her to continue, so she did. "I need to hire a mercenary. Someone trustworthy, with a fast ship who won't ask too many questions. And," she added, eyes flickering to Weave, Crest and Traxis, "a penchant for adventure. That last one's optional, though."

Elek was silent a moment, then gave a booming laugh that made all the clones start. "My, my...you haven't changed much, have you, Kali?"

Kalinda's cheeks flushed but her voice was light. "Well, there's a few more lines on my face, but otherwise, I'm about the same."

"A trustworthy merc? That's a quite a tall order." The Togruta's eyes gleamed with amusement. "But I think I can help you. Ares Tabora, a former apprentice of mine, is looking for work. He's a bounty-hunter by trade, but has been known to dabble in a variety of fields. Ares is a good sort; calm, capable, clever. Odd sense of humor, but I think you can handle that. And he has a _very _nice ship."

Once the relevant information was exchanged, Weave noted that the Togruta seemed a little more at ease; perhaps he'd been worried the Jedi would ask him more, or perhaps he'd found it odd to hear from her after so long.

In any case, Elek regarded Kalinda again, this time with a more speculative gaze. "How are you?"

Kalinda gave him a smile that wouldn't have fooled a youngling. "I'm stellar."

"Ah, that's a terrible question for a Jedi during these times," Elek said with a grimace. "The lot of you are fighting a war, and my old friend is in the type of situation where she needs a blaster-for-hire. I won't ask why," he added, lifting his hands. "The less I know, the better."

"That's probably wise," Kalinda replied. "Thank you for everything, Elek."

The Togruta gave a short bow. "Consider it my pleasure. You've done a few good turns for me, after all."

Weave exchanged glances with Crest; if nothing else, the last few hours had given the clones an interesting glimpse into their former general's colorful past. After a goodbye, Kalinda cut the link and took a deep breath, then glanced up at the clones. "Wish me luck."

"You won't need it," Crest replied with a smile. He'd taken to sorting their rations, along with any other food-items they had. Trax was cleaning his blaster rifle, eyes downcast.

Weave had organized his medical supplies, and had taken to stacking the captain's and Mi's armor a bit more securely in the duffel bags, telling himself his _vode _would want their kits intact and not all roughed up from being slung around in a sack. He'd just been setting Stonewall's helmet in place when Kalinda looked up; Weave winced inwardly at the look of pain on her face before she turned her full attention back to the holocomm in her hand.

Again, she sat up straight and tall, looking every bit the proper Jedi despite her mussed braid and the dark circles beneath her eyes. This time, the link caught almost at once, and a Twi'lek male appeared. Leaning in what looked to be a pilot's seat, he seemed a great deal younger than Elek, younger than Kalinda, but he was fully-matured. A long, leather coat splayed out behind him, and his gaze was sharp.

"Ares Tabora?" the Jedi asked.

He nodded once, his brow furrowing as he regarded her, though he said nothing. Kalinda waited a beat, then continued. "My name is Kalinda. I was given your information by Elek Eun. He said you were looking for work."

"You have work for me, I presume?"

"If you'll take it."

The Twi'lek studied her a moment, then nodded once. "Perhaps, if the, ah, price is right."

The clones had all paused to listen to the conversation; the Twi'lek's lilting Ryl accent was not openly hostile – far from it. But even so, the Twi'lek seemed too casual to be genuine. Beside him, Weave caught Traxis glaring at the bounty hunter even though the fellow couldn't see the clones where they sat.

Kalinda, however, seemed unfazed. "I know this is odd," she said, indicating her robes. "It's probably not often you get sought out by a Jedi, but this is sort of a special circumstance."

Tabora shook his head, though a smile quirked his mouth. "That is putting it mildly."

"Are you on Coruscant?" Kalinda asked. The Twi'lek said nothing, so she continued. "Well, I am. If you're able to meet, I'd like to discuss the particulars of this job in person. The sooner the better. I also need to know how fast your ship is."

"A rush job, then," Tabora said easily. "That will be quite costly, I'm afraid. And, forgive me, but the Jedi are not known for their, ah, adequate financial disbursements."

"What the _fek_ is his problem?" Traxis muttered.

"Money," Weave whispered. "He doesn't think she can pay him."

Trax scowled. "I meant in general."

Again, Weave had to admire Kalinda's reserves of calm. Rather than take offense at anything Tabora said, she simply nodded once. "Of course, I can offer you quite a generous compensation now, plus a much larger fee once the job is completed." She made a graceful motion with her hand. "Will you meet with me? Say, tomorrow morning at Dex's Diner, in CoCo Town?"

The bounty-hunter nodded slowly. "Make it afternoon; I have an appointment to keep in the morning."

When the transmission ended, Kalinda leaned forward, arms resting on her bent knees, eyes downcast, as her whole body seemed to sink into the couch cushions. Weave recognized the posture – and the defeated look in her eyes – as one that often took hold of shinies during their first battles, and he had an urge to set her more at ease. So he stood and gathered up one of the shower-kits from his pack, along with a spare set of fatigues.

"We're going through our supplies; would you like first dibs on the showers?" he asked her, offering the plasti-wrapped packet that contained soap, a disposable razor and other accouterments.

She rubbed her forehead as if she were in pain. "I should wait until Sita and Ro call back – if they call back..."

Stepping closer, Weave knelt beside her and placed the shower-kit in her lap, drawing her eyes to his. "Kalinda, as team medic, I outrank everyone when it comes to the squad's health. I can't do anything about what's going on out there," he gestured to the door, "but I can help those in here. And I think you'll feel a little better after a shower."

The dark-haired woman toyed with the corners of the kit, then gave him a tired, wry smile. "You don't outrank me, Weave. You don't outrank anyone. Neither do I."

He chuckled. "Maybe so, but you still need a shower." The moment the words left his mouth, he winced, but she didn't seem to take offense.

"Fair enough." She sighed and stood up, accepting the fatigues and shower-kit. "If anyone calls, please tell them I'll be right out, okay?"

"Oh, goody. It's been so long since I got to play messenger," Traxis muttered, though Crest elbowed his side, and Kalinda frowned.

Weave pretended not to have heard the scarred clone. "Sure thing," he told the Jedi, who slipped out of the room. Not until he heard the sound of running water did he cast a glare at Traxis. "Didn't we have a talk about this?"

"_You _talked _at _me," Trax pointed out.

"She's got a lot on her plate," Crest began, but the scarred clone cut him off with a shake of his head.

"Don't I know it." He grabbed his pistol and slid it into a holster at his hip, adding a few vibroblades to his belt as well. "It's too effing crowded in here. I'm gonna do some recon on the roof. I'll comm if I see any clankers."

Without waiting for a reply, Traxis slipped out of the apartment, leaving Crest and Weave alone. They exchanged weary glances, but it was Crest who spoke. "Let's give him time to cool off; it's been a kriff of a day all around."

"Copy that," Weave said.

Nodding, Crest glanced around the dingy apartment again, and a determined look came over his face as he stood up. "If we're going to bunk here, I reckon we should make the place a little less...icky."

It was something to do, at least. For a few minutes, the clones busied themselves with cleaning; the fallen bits of flimsi were collected, the surfaces were wiped down with a spare rag, and Weave ran his ionic sterilizer over the couch, the bed, and anything else he thought would need it.

Aside from the occasional comment, neither man spoke, and save for the faint hiss of the shower and the occasional blare of traffic outside, it was silent. The clones were too efficient, and it only took about ten minutes to get the place to a more satisfactory standard.

When they'd finished, they looked around the empty apartment a moment before Crest sighed and skimmed a hand over his head. "It's so quiet. I don't like how quiet it is."

"Me either."

Crest indicated the kitchen; they'd found a few non-perishable food items, canned soup and the like. "Hungry?"

"Not after that dinner."

"Yeah, me either." When Kalinda's holocomm began to chirrup, the soft noise made both clones start in surprise. They exchanged glances, and Weave noted the look of near-panic on Crest's face. "Please don't make me answer that."

"Fine." Weave darted for the holocomm, plucking it from the couch and answering in one smooth motion. "Hello?"

Of all the clones in the galaxy, the very last one he wanted to see was Lieutenant Wren. The fellow was partnered with Jedi Ro Arhen, and was known for his razor-sharp temper and razor-thin patience. Wren was eighty-odd kilos of meanness and muscle, a fierce fighter with a long memory and a short fuse. And, oh yes, he _hated _Weave. With a deep and abiding passion.

It _may _have had something to do with Weave's former crush on Ro, but really, that was all in the past now, right?

Weave watched Wren's face darken when he realized who'd answered. "What the fek do you want?"

_Kriff_! Weave shot a helpless look at Crest, who'd slapped his hand in front of his mouth to keep from laughing openly. _Thanks, vod. _Weave cleared his throat. "Lieutenant; thanks for returning General Halcyon's message. Uh...is Ro there?"

"Why the _gfersh_ do _you_ want to talk to Ro?" Wren sneered.

Weave squared his shoulders and did his best imitation of Stonewall's calm, captain-voice. "It doesn't really concern you, but _Kalinda_ needed to talk to Ro. That's why she left a message–"

"Then where the kriff is your effing Jedi?"

"Cookie, who're you hollering at, now?" The familiar voice came from out of the projection range, and Weave swore he saw Wren's shoulders relax a fraction of an inch, though the hologram shuddered as he shoved the comm toward Ro.

"Never kriffing mind," Wren snarled to Weave. "I don't effing care. It's for you."

This was said to Ro, as Wren got up from his seat, and Weave blinked back a surge of dizziness as the holoproj on Ro's end wobbled, skewing his field of vision wildly before it settled, revealing a ship's cockpit. Ro appeared in the next moment, blonde hair drawn up into two pigtails and wearing a rather fetching leather jacket, shirt and pants, all in, Weave presumed, an assortment of bright colors. The holo washed everything in blue, but he knew Ro's predilection for vivid patterns.

For some reason, she carried a helmet and set of podracer's goggles, both of which she tucked under her arm as she met his eyes. A huge grin split her face. "_Koh-toh-yah_, Weave. Long time, no looky and all that glitz. How's tricks?"

Despite himself, Weave felt his ears get hot at her easy nature. "Well...not great, actually," he said, glancing at the doorway where Kalinda had gone. When he looked back at Ro, he saw that her grin had faded and her expression had become more serious. Oddly, it set him at ease. "It's best if Kalinda explains," he said. "But she's in the shower..."

Kriff, how much did Ro know about Stonewall? Did it matter if another Jedi knew, anyway? As a member of the Altisian sect, Ro wasn't a traditional Knight, but Weave was unwilling to risk revealing too much information, just in case. Besides, he wasn't exactly sure why Kalinda had comm'd Ro in the first place...

Well, Kalinda wasn't here, so he tried to adapt. "Long story short: Captain Stonewall and Milo have been arrested and sent to Kamino. Kalinda's trying to get them back."

He left out the probation and Force-abilities, because...well, that was all pretty messy. But Ro seemed to get the gist of it, as her eyes widened. "Wowzers. That's quite a few more tricks than I was expecting."

"That's putting it mildly."

The familiar voice made Weave nearly sag with relief. Kalinda slid around him and took a seat on the couch. Her hair was loose and damp, and she was dressed in a pair of clone fatigue pants with the cuffs rolled up, though she wore her own sleeveless shirt. Weave handed her the comm and nearly sprang away, but something in her expression made him keep his seat.

Kalinda gave him a brief smile, then looked back at Ro. "I'm sorry to bother you two; I'm sure you're in the middle of a mission, but I need a quick favor."

Ro's eyes flickered over Kalinda, and Weave thought the younger woman could sense Kalinda's distress, even through the holo, even across light years. "Lay it on me," she said with a nod.

"I need..." Kalinda paused, seemed to have to gather her strength, then continued. "I need to get in touch with Djinn. The sooner the better."

"Sure," Ro replied. "I'll send his digits along riiiiight..." She glanced down and began to tap something out on her ship's console. Kalinda's comlink lit up a beat later. "...now," Ro finished, smiling. "Is that it?"

Her voice was still bright and warm, but there was a deeper edge to the warmth. Concern. Weave recognized it immediately, and it was a concern that was matched in the younger Jedi's gaze. Beside him, Kalinda seemed to shrink in on herself, wrapping her arms around her torso and seeming to have to fight to keep her calm. Weave had a moment's debate about whether to leave her to have a private call with the other Jedi, or to stay by her side and offer what support he could.

Weave was a medic. He chose to help his patient, even if he could do nothing more than stick around. A glance at Crest got the idea across to the bald clone, who rose and slid on the couch, on Kalinda's other side.

The dark-haired woman exhaled deeply and looked back up at Ro. When she spoke, her voice trembled. "Someone found out about Stonewall. He was arrested and sent to Kamino, and I know it's because of his...unique abilities. They took Milo, too. Apparently he assaulted the officer who tried to arrest Stone. Now they're both gone."

Ro's lips parted. Shock and horror played across her face, swiftly followed by sorrow, and fear. "Oh, Kali..."

"I don't..." Kalinda shuddered and ducked her head, and Weave watched her hands clench hard enough to bleach her knuckles. "I don't know who gave the order, but I do know why. And I'm going to do something about it."

"We all are," Weave broke in.

Ro smiled at him. "Shadow Squad's a force to be reckoned with. Even Cookie thinks so."

A growl that did not sound like Ro's pet strill came from off-screen, and Ro giggled impishly.

Kalinda chuckled as well, and Weave was relieved to see the faint smile on her face, so he shot Ro a grateful look. She gave him a wink, and his ears heated again. Kalinda took a deep breath and sat up. "The thing is, I'm technically on probation, now, though after today's events, I might well be kicked out of the Order altogether, and the guys..."

She trailed off and looked between them. Crest sat up and snapped off a reg-perfect salute. "We're officially AWOL – at least. Maybe more, given the whole airspeeder debacle."

Kalinda tensed at the mention of the airspeeder. "No matter what happens to me, it's very likely they won't fare as well, if we should fall back into GAR custody. I want to be sure they have...options."

"Hence Djinn," Ro supplied, nodding thoughtfully, though it was clear she was startled by all the news. After a moment, a smile tugged at her lips. "I think he'd think it was bombad decent of you to look out for your men like this. I _know_ it is. And Master Altis," a grim, secretive smile lit Ro's face, oddly reminiscent of Wren at his most sardonic, "has gotten some practice under his utility belt in offering alternative lifestyle choices to the mass produced and right-wise neglected, so your hunks of handsomosity would be in capable hands."

She looked at Weave again, but he hardly noticed. Options? What sort of options was their Jedi talking about? He shot a helpless look at Crest, who looked as nonplussed as he felt. He'd thought Kalinda contacted Ro because of some special Jedi-matter, or something similar and far beyond his understanding.

Never in a thousand years would he have guessed she'd done so for his and his brothers' sakes.

"Is it alrighty-ho if I give him a heads-up?" Ro asked. "It'd make the wheels of progress turn that much faster. _And_ give him a chance to clear out a few spare bunks on the _Chu'unthor_."

"That would be wonderful," Kalinda replied.

Ro's features softened. "I really, really wish I could do more, but Cookie and I are swamped. Like, Dagobah-level swamped. The minute we get free, though..."

Kalinda shook her head. "You've done more than enough. Thank you. I'm sorry to dump all this on you. I just didn't know–"

She broke off and looked down at her bare feet, curled against the carpet, and Weave had an urge to put his arm around her, to offer some physical reassurance. But he held still. There was a part of him that was too steeped in training to do anything of the sort, even though he'd never seen their general look less of a Jedi than she did right now.

"Don't worry about me," Ro said in a warm voice. "Or Cookie. I know you were worried about him."

Kalinda laughed again. Even though it was a short sound, almost an exhalation rather than a true laugh, there was a hint of teasing in her voice. "You know I'm always concerned for Wren's well-being. Tell him I said so, will you?"

"Tell _her_ I said to eff off," came Wren's reply.

Ro gave a dramatic sigh. "Aint' he a charmer?" Her words quieted, and her face became more serious once more. "I mean it," she said to Kalinda. "The _nanosecond_ I can do anything else, I'll comm you."

The dark-haired woman gave a half-bow, which Weave knew was Jedi-speak for "thank you," and Ro returned the gesture. Before she signed off, though, Ro reached one slender hand toward the holoproj, as if reaching to touch Kalinda. "It's going to be alright," she said quietly. "I promise. 'Kay?"

Kalinda regarded her, then nodded once. "Thank you. May the Force be with you, Ro."

"Back 'atcha."

The link faded.

* * *

_Later..._

She couldn't sleep.

It wasn't because the apartment's walls were thin and traffic was loud in this part of town. It wasn't because of the glowing, neon signs nearby, whose pink and yellow light filtered through the shades across the bedroom window. It wasn't because of the headache that wouldn't go away, or the endless kriffing nausea.

Kalinda was exhausted, more so than she'd been in a long time, after much more grueling days, but today was different. Today, her entire world had been thrown into chaos, and she didn't know how she was going to set it right. Earlier, it'd been easy not to think about reality; she'd been occupied with the guys, then getting to Dex's, then coming up with a few backup plans should her insane idea to get to Kamino somehow not work out.

But in the darkness, alone in a bed big enough for two, the unrelenting weight of reality pressed upon her heart. The shadows around her seemed darker in contrast to the garish, neon lights outside, and no matter how much she tossed and turned, she could not get comfortable. The guys had been amazing and ensured that the sheets were clean, but she couldn't relax. She couldn't even meditate.

Stonewall was gone. Their child would not have a father.

Kali told herself not to think of _that _now, but it was a futile effort. Stonewall was gone; no matter how hard she tried, she could only barely feel him in the Force. Just a thread of their bond remained, but all it did was assure her that he was alive and that he still loved her. Both were comforts, to be sure, but she could not shake the worry over his and Milo's futures. Was Milo even still alive? He'd been sent to Kamino...what would happen to a clone who'd assaulted an officer? Nothing good, she was certain.

And Stone...

_He'll be killed, _she thought, her throat tight. _Right before he's dissected and his brain is shoved under a microscope._

She did not realize she was crying until she turned her cheek and felt the damp pillow.

Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. It was too much, this weight, and it was going to break her if she laid here any longer. Kali slipped out of the bed and padded to the door on silent, bare feet. Before she left the bedroom, she was able to call up her Force-shield, so she wouldn't disturb her sleeping men.

It was a trick she'd perfected about two years ago, around the same time she'd met Stonewall. Using the Force, she could create a barrier of a sort between her and most other things: blaster-bolts, scanners, eyes and ears. It was not easy to sustain, nor was it fool-proof, but it would serve her purposes tonight.

So concealed, she stood at the threshold and watched Crest and Weave. She'd insisted they get some rest, and although she knew they would awake at the first whiff of danger, right now, both slept soundly. Crest had curled up on the couch, knees bent, arms folded around his side; even so, it was a small couch and his body barely fit. Weave was probably a little more comfortable on the easy-chair, chin tucked into his chest, fingers laced and hands resting across his stomach, feet outstretched on one of the dining chairs. Kali looked around the apartment again, noting that they'd cleaned up a little. Had she thanked them?

There was a pile of extra bedding set aside for Traxis, but it was empty. Kali remembered Crest telling her the scarred clone had gone "out," but he hadn't known more than that. Both Crest and Weave seemed to think he needed some time to process the day's events, and would be back soon.

Taking a deep breath, Kali reached through the Force to get a sense of Traxis, just to know he was safe. She caught a ripple of fury far above her head, and realized he was on the roof of the building. Alone, and angry. That was not unusual; Trax was angry a lot. But the emotion she sensed from him now went beyond his usual brand of ire. It was darker, more dangerous. It was the kind of helpless rage that made men do stupid things. Kali didn't know what she would do if any more of her guys were hurt, so she made a decision.

After casting one last look at the sleeping clones, Kali slid on her boots, tucking the hem of the fatigues in around her calves, and slipped out of the apartment, into the empty corridor. She did not drop her shield, but she let it relax a little, enough to turn away any unwary eyes should she come across another being. The turbolift was vacant and only shuddered a little after she entered the code that would take her to the highest floor, where she figured the roof-access was located.

Several minutes later, Kali stepped out of the old-style swinging door onto the building's roof. This part of Taung Heights was tucked deep into the city-planet's middle layers, which meant that above her head and below her feet, all she could see were more buildings. They stretched on all sides, bathed in their own lights and filled with life. She could not see the sky; during the day, sunlight wouldn't reach this part of the city at all, as far away from the upper-levels as they were. Such was life in most of the ecumenopolis.

Still shielded, Kali surveyed the massive rooftop, which was easily several hundred square meters, though it was not an open space. Many of the building's residents had claimed the rooftop for their own devices, setting up places for small families to gather, cook "outside," or meet in larger groups. There was even a garden, walled with an energy-shield and artificially lit.

But some of the rooftop was unclaimed; a good fourth of it was topped with the building's power-junction, housing the pod-shaped relays that maintained a steady stream of energy to power the building. Among this area were a few flat, unadorned sections, fitted between the large, ferrocrete pods. Among these, was Traxis.

Back to her, he leaned against one of the pods, arms crossed as he gazed over the city, looking for all the world like he was standing sentinel even though he only wore his fatigues. Kali reached out to him through the Force and felt his anger once more. As she'd sensed previously, the emotion was broad, far-reaching, and mired in helplessness, but there were threads of it directed _her_ way, even though Kali knew Trax was unaware she stood so close.

All other thoughts fell aside as she worked to push through Trax's anger and find her calm, because now she knew she _definitely _needed to talk to him. She took a breath and closed the space between them. When she was about five meters away, she dropped her shield and said his name once, softly, as she approached.

His body tensed, but he did not turn or speak.

"You can't sleep either?" she asked.

He shrugged.

Kali exhaled and took another step closer. There was no use dancing around the glocklaw sauce with this man; Trax needed a direct approach. He was kind of like Mace in that way. "Trax, why are you angry with me?"

This seemed to catch him off-guard. Traxis turned to her, brow furrowed in confusion, though the rest of his expression was bitter. "Your Force can't tell you?"

"Not in so many words."

All of the anger coursing through Trax shifted towards her, hitting Kali with the force of a slap as his face twisted with fury. "I'm angry because this whole fekking mess is _your_ fault."

Reeling a little from the intensity of the emotion, Kali froze perhaps a meter away. "Trax..."

But he cut her off with a shake of his head, and his next words fell upon her like a hail of blaster-bolts. "You're a kriffing _Jedi. _You're supposed to _help_, not cause more _shabla _trouble. You're supposed to be better... But you aren't, are you? You're just like everyone else; you don't know what the kriff you're doing. And you made _him_ fall in love with you, made him...turn _into _whatever the hell you are, and now he's _gone_. Forever. Him and Mi..."

His words broke off again and he seemed to have to fight for control. "Fekking Milo," he said at last, voice hoarse. "It should have been me. At least I could handle Kamino. Better than that poor, sweet kid, at any rate."

Kali hardly breathed. She was certain if she moved, her body would collapse in on itself. An icy knot of fear and shame coiled in her stomach, and the longer Trax spoke, the bigger the knot became. _He's right,_ a part of her brain whispered. _You know he's right. This is your fault._ If she'd acted as a proper Jedi should, if she'd had no attachments, no weaknesses, Stonewall and Milo would be alive and well.

A sob caught in her throat, but she refused to break down in front of yet another person today, so she choked it back and put a fist to her mouth to keep quiet. If she could breathe, she could speak, and maybe then she could try and reply, but right now, it was all she could do to not openly cry.

Traxis turned away from her again and looked at the endless city all around them. "No matter what the others think," his words were dark and heavy, "I know how this story ends. No one comes back from Kamino. Milo sure as fek won't. If Stonewall's not killed when the long-necks dissect him, he'll be reconditioned." Trax looked at her again, and through her own blurred vision she saw his eyes were wet. "I hope they kill him."

The words and the sentiment behind them were a dark mirror of her own thoughts, and the helplessness radiating from the man before her broke the last of Kali's already fragile control. Even standing became too difficult, so she knelt in the gravel of the rooftop, ducked her head and relented, allowing the tears to flow. It was too much. She wasn't strong enough for this. She'd never been strong enough to be a Jedi.

In that moment, Kali was sixteen again. In that moment, she was watching her father as he bled, so heavy in her arms as he took his last breath. In that moment, the world was just as dark and she was just as helpless. She put her cheeks in her hands and wept.

Someone swore in a gruff male voice, and the next thing she knew, strong arms embraced her and held her close to his chest. A hand rested on the back of her head, urging her closer, and for one insane moment she thought she was hallucinating, and Stonewall had come across the stars to comfort her...

Then Trax spoke in her ear. "I know it's not the same, but it's better than nothing."

She couldn't reply. All she could do was bury her face in his shoulder and cry.

* * *

He didn't know how long he held her. There was no way to gauge the passage of time without a visible sky, and if he moved his arm to look at his chrono, he would disturb her. So Traxis tried to count down the minutes in his head, though his heart wasn't really into it. At some point, he'd managed to maneuver them both to a sitting position, which was slightly more comfortable than crouching on the _shabla_ roof.

After a while, she stopped crying, but she didn't move from his arms and he didn't release her. In a way, they were each all the other had left of Stonewall. There was a connection between them, one he'd never recognized until now.

With that understanding, some of his anger toward the dark-haired woman fled – what of it was genuinely directed at her, anyway – and he felt a strange flare of protective energy. The feeling took root where the jealousy in his heart had lived, and began to grow. _She_ was all he had left of Stonewall, who had loved her more than Traxis could have ever understood.

So he held her close and let her cry herself to sleep in his arms.

Right now, there was nothing Traxis could do about his anger. He wasn't smart enough to steal a ship. He wasn't powerful enough to breach Kamino on his own, find his _vode _and bring them to safety, let alone strong enough to battle through whatever passed for guards on the storm world. He had no wish to kill other clones.

But Kalinda – Kali, in his arms – had resources, contacts. She had a plan – of a sort. She was not helpless. The man she loved was in trouble, and she was doing everything in her power – her own career as a Jedi be damned – to get him back. All Traxis did was get pissed off and snarky.

As he'd stood over the city, these thoughts had circled through his brain, along with him alternately railing at fate or destiny, or the kriffing Force, and wallowing in his own bitterness, because it _should _have been him that had punched Commander Fox and been sent to Kamino. But he was _here_, and Stonewall and Milo were gone. Probably forever. And Traxis knew, with the same kind of certainty he reserved for the advantages of his favorite blaster-rifle, that he would never see them again.

However, if there _was_ a chance of seeing either man again, it was a razor-thin one, and it would hinge on the dark-haired woman who'd sought Traxis out even though she was a hair-trigger away from losing her own _osik. _That Kalinda had come to him when it was obvious he was angry with her was commendable. Most others left him to his own devices, but she'd tried to make things right.

Just like Stonewall had, on Balasi.

A little more of his anger fled, and Traxis sighed and rubbed her back. _Fek. I made Kali cry. If he lives long enough to find out, Stonewall's going to effing kill me. _

When her body stilled and the pattern of her breathing took on a deep, rhythmic pace, he knew it was time to go. Carefully, he gathered the Jedi in his arms, noting how light she was. Kriff, she'd always seemed...more substantial, but she was a bitty thing, wasn't she? He stood up slowly, and once he was certain he could move without disturbing her, he began to make his way back to the apartment.

It was dark and quiet. Crest and Weave were snoring quietly on the couch and armchair, respectively, and Trax was adept at moving without waking sleeping brothers. He made it to the bedroom without incident, and carefully set Kalinda on the bed, gently pulling off her boots and ensuring that she would be comfortable while she slept. Once she was out of his arms, she made a quiet noise of protest and turned her face toward him.

"Stone...?" she murmured, reaching out with one hand. Her eyes were still closed, but a faint frown touched her lips as she sought a man who wasn't there.

Trax's chest tightened. She was still asleep; he figured she was dreaming, but he had no wish to wake her up and let the dream dissolve. That would happen soon enough.

Instead, he knelt beside her and ran a hand over her hair, as he'd seen Stonewall do a hundred times. "It's alright, _Kali'ka,_" he told her quietly, trying to mimic the captain's speech-patterns. "Just go back to sleep. Everything's going to be alright, I promise."

She sighed and nodded dimly, then grew still once more as she dropped into a deeper sleep. Traxis stayed by her side a moment longer, then rose and slipped out of her room. When the bedroom door shut behind him, he took a deep, shaking breath to gather his fortitude. He glanced around the dark room and noticed that his _vode _had made a sleeping area for him, but he had an urge to stay close by the bedroom. He collected a cushion and a blanket, brought them near the bedroom door and took a seat, his back resting on a cushion, leaning against the wall.

Within a few moments, he was asleep too.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to the fan-kriffing-tastic _**impoeia**_ for letting me borrow her OCs: Ro and Wren, in addition to taking on the monster task of beta-ing this story. If you have not already done so, do yourself a favor and check out her phenomenal fics. :) The references to impoeia's OCs are from a collaborative WIP between her and myself. Consider those sections a teaser for that fic. ;)

What do you think of the story so far? Any thoughts on how events will play out? What would you like to see happen? All comments/thoughts/critiques are welcome with open arms. :)

Massive virtual hugs to anyone who's reading! I hope you're enjoying the story so far.

Next time: back to Kamino.


	10. Chapter 9

A/N: This chapter references events from _Warriors Of Shadow._

Lyrics: "There's No Way Out Of Here" by David Gilmour, on _David Gilmour_.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

_There are no answers here, _

_When you look out you don't see in._

_There was no promise made,_

_The part you've played, the chance you took._

_There's no way out of here, _

_When you come in, you're in for good._

As far as Milo could tell, life in Sector Nine was more or less the same as it was anywhere else – for a clone, anyway.

The morning after his and Stonewall's arrival, Milo had been awakened when Ward and Halligan had entered their cell and taken his former captain away without a word. It'd happened so fast. One second Milo had been in a deep sleep; the next, they'd barged in, shot Stonewall with a hypo to knock him out, and dragged him out the cell without so much as a _good morning._

That was hours ago. Now, Milo stood outside and looked at the cloudy sky. It was raining, naturally, but for some reason the clones here were given a couple hours of time outside each day, regardless of the weather. This was one of the differences between Sector Nine and the Kamino that Milo had grown up with. In all his years as a cadet, he'd been outside only for training purposes. The long-necks had never just let the clones meander around unsupervised. Oh, there were guards here alright; Ward and Halligan stood sentinel at one side of the permacrete platform, but there was no rhyme or reason to the situation. There was no trainer ordering them to run laps or rappel down the sides of the domed cities; there were no officers calling out exercises, forcing the clones to do a hundred reps of this or that.

There was just the rain, and about a dozen "defective" clones huddled together in the shelter of the building's awning.

Except Milo.

He stood at the edge of the platform and peered through the energy fence, over the churning sea, half-hoping to see an aiwha, but mostly watching the choppy, frothing waves. After a moment, he turned his face up and closed his eyes, content to let the rain fall on his cheeks. When he listened to the sea, he was reminded of Coraux, and the night he and the others had spent on the Numen boardwalk...

"What are you doing?"

Milo opened his eyes and looked at Zero, who'd come to stand beside him, shielding his eyes from the light rain with his single hand. Over his shoulder, the other clones watched Milo with curiosity, and he realized he'd not actually _met _any of them yet. The moment he'd come outside, he'd made a direct heading for the platform's edge.

"Just enjoying the view," Milo said.

Zero seemed to study the horizon, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. Don't try to jump, though." He nudged the energy shield with the toe of his boot; it must have shocked him, but he didn't react. "It won't let you go. You're stuck in The Dregs, just like the rest of us."

Milo frowned. "Why would I want to jump? The fall alone would..."

Suddenly his throat went dry and he couldn't get the rest of the words out. Zero, however, rocked on his heels and watched the waves like a starving man would regard a feast. "A fellow can dream."

It took Milo several moments to form speech again. "So...what do you guys do out here?"

Zero cocked his head like he didn't understand the question. "What does it look like we do?"

"Um...stand around?"

Zero grinned and tapped his nose. "Got it in one."

"Don't you want to get some exercise after being cooped up all day?"

The one-armed clone shrugged. "What's the point? Is running laps going to make me sprout a second arm?"

"Never mind_,_" Milo said, sighing. He nodded to the other clones. "Why don't you introduce me to your _vode_?"

Zero frowned at him but began to walk back to the others, Milo following. They reached the cluster of other clones, most of whom stared at Milo like _he'd _just sprung out of the ocean. It was a little disconcerting, the way they studied him so openly. Among most clones – well, the ones he was familiar with – it was considered rude to blatantly stare at anyone else. Milo didn't know _why; _he just knew it wasn't done.

"This is the newest resident, Milo," Zero said with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

Milo waved at the small group. "Nice to meet all of you."

"For once, it is _all_ of us," Zero broke in. "A few guys are usually with the long-neck, but Creon seems quite taken with his new toy." He gave Milo a knowing look, but he addressed the others. "Milo isn't like us. He's in perfect condition."

One of the clones, a blind fellow with eyes frosted white, gave a snort of laughter. "How'd you manage that? Factory reset?"

The others laughed; Milo laughed too, but felt uneasy for it. The blind clone indicated himself. "Rime. That's my cell-mate Cobble."

This was said with a gesture to a clone about Zero's age, shifting his feet and nervously glancing around. At the sound of his name, he practically jumped out of his skin, glancing around with wild, wide eyes and muttering, "Cobble?"

Rime sighed. "That's all he says. You get used to it."

Another clone stepped forward. Well, he tried to. His feet were turned inward and his back was hunched over, but he wasn't old at all. Maybe a little younger than Zero, though his posture was that of a very old man and his steps wobbled. He shuffled close to Milo and began to circle him on unsteady feet, eying him up and down.

"What's a clone like _you_ doing here?" he asked as he circled, his wobbling knees brushing up against Milo's.

Milo tried not to flinch at the other clone's proximity. "It's kind of a long story."

"Den, Milo's _not_ supposed to be here," Zero offered. "He followed Stonewall, his captain, who got arrested for...something or other."

Neither Milo nor Stonewall had seen a reason to share Stonewall's Force-abilities with their cell-mate, and – oddly – Zero had not seemed inclined to ask. Not even about the collar. He'd simply accepted Stonewall's presence.

"Where's Stonewall?" Rime asked.

Something tight caught in Milo's lungs and made it hard to take a proper breath. "He's..."

"Ward and Halligan took him away early this morning," Zero broke in. "I imagine Creon's running more of his lovely tests. There's no telling if the good captain will make it to lunch."

Heedless of Milo's grimace, Den paused and looked up directly into Milo's face. "So...your captain _is_ defective, but you came along...on your own. No one _forced_ you to come here?"

"No," Milo replied, straightening his shoulders out of long-ingrained habit. "My _vod _was in trouble, and needed someone to watch his six."

The others, save milky-eyed Rime, exchanged startled looks and began to mutter amongst themselves. Except for one fellow, much younger than Milo, who stood a few places away. He was not quite all the way beneath the awning, like the others; one shoulder was exposed to the light patter of rain, the drops darkening the fabric of his shirt. The moment he saw Milo looking at him, he ducked his head and dropped to a kneel, reaching out one hand to make swirling patterns against the rain-wet ferrocrete.

Zero rubbed his forehead, a frustrated look on his face. "Okay, you've either got to stop using that word, or tell me what it means."

"What word?"

The one-armed clone frowned at him. "Vohd. Or is it vo-day? You say both."

Milo gaped at him. "You don't know what '_vod'_ means?" Zero shook his head, as did the others, and Milo wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. All he managed was a helpless shrug. "It's Mando'a – Mandalorian language. You know, like Jango Fett." He paused. "You _do _know who Jango is, don't you?"

Zero rolled his eyes. "We're defective, not stupid."

"Right, sorry." Milo's face was hot as he teetered between embarrassment and shock. He'd never met an adult clone who didn't know what _vod _meant. "_Vod _means 'brother,' in Mando'a. _Vode _means 'brother_s_' – plural. But it's more than that."

"How?" Rime asked, brow furrowed. The others wore similar looks of confusion, except for the one young clone.

Milo paused, searching for the proper words to educate these men. Strange, to think he would ever have to explain such a simple concept to other _clones_; he remembered General Halcyon asking about it, but she would have had no reason to know. Stonewall had explained it to her one day, during one of those quiet moments in hyperspace not long after Shadow Squad had formed, but before they'd settled on a name.

Thinking of Stonewall made him worry all over again, but he tried to set aside the feeling. "'_Vod'_ means 'brother,' but it implies...a stronger connection. Like a family. We're _all_ brothers, in a sense, but not every clone considers every other clone a true _vod_, at least not until you really get to know the guy."

The others looked at each other, then back at him, but it was Zero who spoke. "What difference does it make?"

It was Milo's turn to frown in confusion. "Huh?"

"If a clone is a 'brother' or not," Zero replied. "Who cares?"

Den nodded. "Yeah. And why did having a...'vohd' make you want to follow your captain _here_?"

"Maybe he _is _defective," Rime added with a smirk, nudging Cobble's side. "Just in his brain. Like you, Cob."

Cobble flinched at the touch, and rubbed his hands along his torso, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Cobble," he muttered, shaking his head.

The younger clone had looked up; he met Milo's eyes and gave a small nod as if he understood...but he'd not said a word. With a deep breath to quiet his nerves, Milo tried to explain.

"Stonewall and I are," it was his turn to flinch, "_were_, a part of Shadow Squad. We've been through a lot together over the last couple years. We're all brothers. We all have each other's six – we look out for each other because...well, because that's what _vode _do."

"But why?" Den asked.

"What does it matter?" Zero added. The others nodded in agreement, eyes on Milo and expressions ranging from bewildered to skeptical.

Milo looked between them helplessly. He felt like he was trying to explain something intangible, like why the ocean was wet, or the feeling of sliding into a comfortable bunk after a long and grueling day. "It matters because...because it's important. Because all we have is each other. Because...we're family. If we don't look out for each other, who will?"

None of the others replied; they only stared at Milo like he'd turned into a Hutt.

Until he felt a soft nudge on his arm and looked down. The younger clone was beside him, pointing to smudges he'd made in the rain soaked ferrocrete. No...not smudges. Milo knelt to get a better look and realized it was a few words of Basic...

SHADOW SQUAD?

"Are you asking about my squad?" he asked the younger clone. The lad's eyes lit up and he nodded rapidly; apparently this was the clone who couldn't speak. But his enthusiasm was contagious, and Milo grinned despite his own worries. "We're spec-ops. We traveled all over the galaxy with our Jedi general, on all sorts of crazy missions. I could tell you some stories! But first...what's your name?"

"I'm not sure he has one," Zero broke in, shrugging.

Milo looked at the younger clone, who frowned and shook his head before he knelt, rubbing patterns in the wet ferrocrete once more. Milo watched the letters form: LEVY

"Levy?" he asked. "Your name is Levy?"

The kid nodded again, a look of utter relief and joy crossing his face. For some reason, the expression made Milo angry and sad and pleased all at once. The feeling was magnified when Levy sprang up and hugged him, practically bouncing on his heels in his delight.

As he was embraced, Milo glanced at Zero. "You didn't try to find out his name?"

Zero shoved his hand in the pocket of his fatigues. "Why? It's not like he's going to be around very long. The little ones can't handle life here like we can."

"Yeah, you shouldn't get too attached to the kids that come through," Rime added.

Still hugging Milo, Levy tensed and ducked his head, but Milo patted his back. "It's alright, _vod,_" he murmured. He glanced around at the other clones, none of whom seemed even remotely shamed by their own behavior; none of them seemed...well, _anything, _really. They just stood out of the rain and watched him and Levy like someone would watch a holo they found oddly fascinating, but a little bizarre, too.

So he wouldn't worry the kid, Milo managed to suppress his shiver. _These guys are kriffing _weird_. Kind of jerks, too. _

After a moment, Levy pulled away and pointed to the spot on the ferrocrete where he'd asked about Shadow Squad. Milo nodded. "Right. Stories about Shadow Squad...let me think for a second."

He decided on the mission to Florrum; invisible droids were always a crowd-pleaser, and what clone didn't like to hear about shooting the kriff out of a _shab-_load of tinnies? Plus the pirates were a pretty neat twist. "Alright. So, not long after we all started working together, we were sent to a planet called Florrum..."

As he spoke, he noticed that the other clones slowly inched closer, obviously engrossed in the story despite their flippant attitude toward one another. Milo had a moment of hesitation, as he'd never been a particularly great storyteller – that was Crest's specialty – but Levy's wide eyes and rapt expression encouraged him, and before too long he was sure the others were as enthralled as Levy.

"..._still _had enough ale to have one heck of a party after all that," he finished after a few minutes, chuckling with the memory. "Those Weequay are _serious _about their parties."

He glanced at Levy, who was laughing silently, eyes squeezed shut and a huge grin on his face. Most of the other clones studied Milo with the dawning realization of men who'd been waiting for a punchline that went over their heads. Some, like Cobble, didn't seem to have listened at all, though they stood nearby, among the others. Others, like Zero and Rime, just looked startled.

_Kriff. Tough crowd._

Just then, Cobble's body went rigid and he ducked behind Rime, who made a noise of disgust. "Let me guess: the guards are coming?"

"And they brought toys," Zero said cheerfully. "Maybe it's finally my turn to go for good."

Milo looked in the direction of the building; sure enough, Ward and Halligan – he now recognized the distinct gray markings on their kits – approached, each toting an electro-staff. His body tensed, instinctively preparing for a fight, though he knew he'd lose, unarmed as he was. Still, he glanced around the wide platform, assessing distances and trajectories...if he'd had something to throw, he could maybe knock one of the staffs free...

Once the guards drew closer, Zero raised his hand in greeting. "Who's on the menu today, Halli?"

Halligan's voice was weary through his mic. "I've told you a thousand times, Zero. _Don't _call me 'Halli.'"

"And we need the new guy," Ward added, indicating Milo. "Come on. Creon wants you."

Rime chuckled. "Ah, lucky New Guy."

"He's only lucky if he doesn't come back," Den replied, and a few of the others laughed.

Milo's stomach churned. The guard waved him forward, but his legs didn't want to move. Beside him, Levy shot him a terrified look, his light-brown eyes huge and filled with fear. Oddly, the sight set Milo somewhat at ease; he didn't want Levy to be any more scared than he already was, so he swallowed his own apprehension and nodded once.

"Who's Creon?" he asked as he stepped forward.

Neither guard answered as they grabbed his arms and began to steer him toward the building's entrance, but as he was led away, he heard Zero's voice: "Only your jailer and new best friend. He'll make you beg for mercy, but he won't give it."

"Yeah," Den added. "He's kind of an asshole that way."

* * *

_Earlier..._

From the safety of the balcony, high above the training room, Creon Dai evaluated the only Force-sensitive Fett clone in the galaxy.

A dozen B1 droids formed two parallel rows on either side of the empty training room. For this round of tests, Creon had commanded them to "fire at will," in order to gauge the clone's ability to avoid being struck. The electric-red flurry of bolts rained over the clone, but the unit was able to deflect ninety-six percent of the shots, managing to dodge another three percent. The remaining one percent struck him, but the droids were only armed with simnunition. The scent of burning Human skin and hair was distasteful, but Creon hardly noticed such things any longer. Besides, the few minor burns the unit sustained were an effective motivator to obey Creon's commands.

After the first two hours, Creon had the clone's eyes bound beneath a modified helmet, blinding it and thus offering a further challenge. The unit had not disappointed. The vibrosword that the unit had been given arced bright yellow in the dark room, meeting and deflecting shot after shot. CC-3077 was a command-unit, and its records showed that it had trained with a vibrosword during its cadet days, but its alacrity and ease of movement outmatched that of other CC units. The nodes affixed to the clone's body provided a constant readout of its physical condition; the unit's heart rate was elevated, its breathing was rapid, and its brainwaves were agitated, all of which were signs of excessive Force-use, along with the usual physical exertion.

Creon spared a glance at the chrono; six point seven hours into such a strenuous session, and the clone was still standing.

Extraordinary. The unit had performed above and beyond Creon's expectations, and it had done so since the morning cycle. CC-3077 was not as strong in the Force as a Jedi, but there was no denying its prowess with that strange energy.

_A Jedi has trained it, _Creon realized, watching as the unit somersaulted to avoid another strike, then lifted its hand to swipe away a group of the droids. Four of them fell aside; Creon tapped his screen and six more entered the room to replace those that had fallen, and the clone turned to them, chest heaving.

But _who _exactly had trained the clone? One of the Jedi it had served under? Did that Jedi also have something to do with how the unit had gotten the Force? It was the most logical connection. Creon had examined the unit's most recent posting, but Kalinda Halcyon's file showed nothing of note; she was, by all accounts, a below-average specimen among her kind, with barely passable lightsaber skills and a limiting knee injury that would have spelled the end of her life had she been a Kaminoan – or one of their products.

Short of studying the Jedi herself, there was little chance of Creon discovering _how _the clone had come about the Force. Rather than dwell on that subject, he had decided to focus on exactly what could be done with such a creature.

He entered a command on the screen and the droids stilled. By now the clone had retreated to a corner, placing its back to the joined walls. Once the droids stopped firing, it leaned forward and tugged at the sightless helmet, to no avail. This piece of equipment was locked into the Force-suppressing collar, which had been turned off but left in place for this purpose.

Creon activated the voice-amplifier. "Come forward."

The clone held still, chest heaving.

"Unit CC-3077, come forward."

In response, the clone made what Creon assumed was a Human hand gesture meant to tell him off. The nictitating membranes of Creon's eyes blinked once, a sign of annoyance. If the unit would not take even simple commands, it was worthless to Lord Tyranus. All of its value relied on the fact that it was a clone, and clones were meant to obey without question.

No matter. He'd anticipated such defiance; very often clones who served in active duty for prolonged periods developed a rebellious streak, but there were ways to curb such behavior.

CC-3077 had provided one, no doubt unwittingly.

Without shutting off the voice-amplifier, Creon entered another command on his console, which would call one of the guards. "CT-7477."

The clone's reply was instantaneous. "Sir?"

"Has unit CT-6396 been prepared as I instructed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Bring it in and remove the binders."

At the designation, the Force-sensitive unit's body went rigid, and the sensors indicated that its heart rate had increased dramatically. The clone who'd inexplicably followed its officer to Kamino was led into the training room, hands bound behind its back. It was covered in the standard crimson fatigues of all clone units, though Creon had ordered the guards to affix several nodes to its body, similar to those on the officer. As they brought the clone inside, Creon activated the nodes remotely and the clone's bio-readings appeared on a corner of his screen.

While one guard unfastened the binders at the new unit's wrists, Creon ordered the other to remove the command-unit's helmet and blindfold. Once the guards slipped out, the two clones were alone, save for Creon, observing from a safe distance. The younger one glanced around, then hurried to the other, speaking rapidly. CC-3077 replied – in Mando'a.

Creon shifted his feet, slightly. The Mandalorian language was frowned upon on Kamino; not all aspects of Jango Fett had been suited for cloning, but some had crept in despite the Kaminoan's best efforts. Creon nearly frowned. Had he been in charge of the clones' coding, such a thing never would have taken place. Another reason his "superiors" were inept.

He activated the voice-amplifier once more. "CC-3077, you are ordered to use offensive Force tactics on CT-6396."

The CC unit did not move.

_Very well. _Creon activated the console. The younger unit let out a cry and fell to its knees, wrapping its arms around its torso as a wave of electricity pulsed through its body, courtesy of the nodes. The other clone bent to help it, but a swipe of Creon's finger shut off the current.

As the older clone helped the younger to its feet, Creon spoke again. "CC-3077, you are ordered to use offensive Force tactics on CT-6396. Continue to refuse, and CT-6396 will continue to be disciplined. The choice is yours."

* * *

Stonewall gripped Milo's arm and met his younger brother's eyes. The brief joy he'd felt at their reunion had vanished, replaced with a kind of dawning horror that was starting to grow too common here. Milo winced and rubbed his stomach, where one of those damn sticky node-things had been attached; Stonewall was covered in the _shabla _things, but they'd not shocked him.

"It's not that bad," Milo said, though his face suggested otherwise. "I can handle–"

Milo's body jolted and pain tore through his Force-presence as he fell to his knees again. He didn't cry out this time, but a trickle of blood appeared at his mouth, and Stonewall realized he'd bitten his tongue to not make a sound.

Fury and fear warred within the former captain as he knelt beside his brother, trying to offer what comfort he could. The moment the shock ended, the moment Milo gasped with relief, Stonewall whirled to face the long-neck in the observation deck above his head.

"Stop this, you karking coward," he called out, gathering the Force to him. It was strong, now, resonating with his anger. It was the only weapon in his reach. "Leave him the fek alone!"

"CC-3077, you are ordered to use offensive Force tactics on CT-6396. Comply, or your subordinate will suffer."

There was no emotion in the Kaminoan's voice, but no peace either. It was dead and flat and cold, and it angered Stonewall like nothing else in his life.

Beneath the veneer of calm was a growing excitement, a bated anticipation, and a hungry kind of curiosity. All of those emotions were directed at Stonewall and what he would do next. He'd sensed them the moment the collar had been deactivated, hours ago. This long-neck – Creon Dai – had a purpose in mind for Stonewall, one that went beyond taking samples of his bodily fluids.

The realization was terrifying. It meant that no quarter would be given, no mercy shown. Stonewall had known this, but not until he saw Milo's blood did he truly understand.

He could not attack Creon, not without Milo suffering further.

As if to prove his point, Milo hissed and ducked his head again, his arms and legs jerking as the electric current was poured into his body. Stonewall raised his hands in a modified gesture of surrender. "Okay! I'll do as you say! Just...stop hurting him!"

A second passed, then Milo collapsed onto his stomach, breathing hard. "I'm alright, _vod,_" he gasped. "It's stopped."

As Milo got to his feet, Creon's voice echoed in the massive room, seeping into Stonewall's head with the ease of a plasma-bolt. "CC-3077, you are ordered to use offensive Force tactics on–"

"I heard you," Stonewall broke in. "Just give me a kriffing second."

He ducked his head. Even as he gathered the Force to him, his hands shook. Every part of his being rebelled at what he was about to do, but no matter how the long-neck tried to spin the situation, he had no choice. He took a deep breath and sent a pulse of energy toward his younger brother. It was small, but still sent Milo stumbling back a few paces as if he'd been kicked in the gut.

Stonewall immediately rushed to help steady him, but Creon's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Unacceptable, CC-3077. You were ordered to use _offensive_ Force tactics on CT-6396. You have proven to me that you are capable of more. If you will not perform adequately, CT-6396 will suffer."

As he got to his feet, Milo sucked in a deep breath and looked up at his former captain. Fear tightened his mouth and his eyes, but his voice was calm. "Do what you have to do. I trust you, _vod_."

What the kriff could Stonewall say to that?

A moment to collect his strength, another to gather his nerve, then he directed a larger wave of Force-energy toward Milo. This one was more intense; Milo's body lifted, flew backward several meters until he slammed into a nearby wall. The dull _thud_ had not finished echoing in the room before Stonewall ran to Milo's side. His brother had slid to the floor, and appeared a little dazed, for he blinked up at Stonewall with confusion, like he couldn't quite remember the lyrics to a favorite song.

"I'm so sorry, _vod,_" Stonewall managed as he reached to help Milo up. "Are you okay?"

Milo let out a hiss of pain and rubbed his shoulder, which had struck the wall first, but he nodded. "Yeah. Ish."

The door to the room opened, and Ward and Halligan entered. Both men were fully armored and wielded their electro-staffs. As they approached, Halligan held up a set of cuffs. "We're going to bring you both back to the cell. You," he indicated Stonewall, "Creon's turned your collar back on, so don't try anything silly."

Stonewall looked up, where the Kaminoan had stood all kriffing day. The _shabuir _was not paying attention to the clones any longer; instead, he glanced between his datapad and the screen before him. Stonewall risked reaching out with the Force and sensed...

Satisfaction.

Creon had gotten exactly what he'd wanted. Stonewall had broken.

"Can you pull the sticky-things off of me too?" Milo asked as Ward bound his wrists. "They're really itchy."

Ward answered, but Stonewall hardly heard him, nor did he pay much attention as he and Mi were led from the room and through the labyrinthine corridors that made up this part of Sector Nine. His thoughts had turned to the darkness within.

* * *

_Later..._

Stonewall looked over his plate at Milo, and noted with relief that the younger man had eaten most of whatever passed for lunch. "Are you–"

Milo sighed and met his eyes, cutting off his question with a weary smile. "I'm fine," he said quietly. "Just like I was the last dozen times you asked."

Stonewall gave him an apologetic nod. "I know. I can't help it, though."

"I know."

Their words were easily lost among the talk of the other clones in the mess-hall, for which Stonewall was thankful. Most of The Dregs' residents gave the pair a wide berth, choosing to ignore them in favor of their own, strangely monotone conversations. Stonewall was thankful for that, too. He and Milo hadn't had much of a chance to talk since the session with Creon, and the former captain didn't quite know what to say. So he'd stuck with the tried-and-true.

Maybe it was better that way. At least for now.

Milo toyed with his protein supplements, moving the little cubes around on the plasti-plate before looking up at Stonewall, brow furrowed. "This place is...weird."

Of all the things he could have said, that was not quite what Stonewall had been expecting. The former captain nodded and glanced around, noting how none of the other clones looked at him. Hell, they hardly looked at each other, and their faces were oddly blank.

"Yeah. You can say that again."

"Well...it's more like the clones here are weird," Milo added, frowning. "While you were...away, I was in the training yard with the others." He put down his fork and gave Stonewall a look that was pure frustration. "They didn't know what the word '_vod' _meant. How crazy is that? And there is this one fellow," he glanced around until he nodded to a younger, cadet-aged clone, entering the mess, "who can't talk, but no one tried to find out his name."

Stonewall frowned as well. "That's...passing strange."

"Yeah." Milo sighed and shook his head. "Poor kid. Honestly, though, I feel sorry for all of them. Not knowing what it means to have brothers...can you imagine?"

The expression on his face was pure bewilderment now; still "shiny" somehow, despite the fact that Milo spoke from experience. He speared a protein cube and chewed it thoughtfully while watching the young cadet stand in the food line with the others, tray in hand.

Stonewall took a bite of his own food, but didn't taste it. Truthfully, only part of his attention was on the conversation with Mi; the rest was back in the training-room, and on the emotions he'd sensed from Creon. The long-neck was testing him for some reason, that much was clear. The _shabuir _had run Stonewall through every lesson in the book, many of which Kali had introduced him to during those first few months he'd been able to access the Force. Creon's tests were, naturally, far less pleasant than anything he'd ever done with Kali, but Stonewall knew his measure was being taken.

It made sense, in an effed-up way. He was one-of-a-kind, and it was logical that his captors sought to get a true estimation of his worth. Or, more likely, what he could do for them.

The entire situation was bizarre. Stonewall was a clone, one of millions of identical-in-body men whose entire existence was meant to serve those who "owned" them. All clones were bred and trained to obey without question. Stonewall was just like Mi, just like Trax and Weave and Crest and Wren and Cody and Rex and all the rest of the clones he'd served with. They were all supposed to be the same, and he'd always taken comfort in that fact. He'd always liked being bound by blood to these men – yes, even the irascible Wren – because it was good to _belong _to something larger, to feel a sense of kinship and purpose, even if some of that purpose had been constructed into his earliest lessons.

But now he was unique. More so than when he'd developed a close connection with his general; more so than when he'd stopped caring so much about regs and protocol; more so than when he'd fallen in love with Kali.

Outwardly, he was the same as Milo or any of the others.

Inside, though, he was...different.

And that difference was going to cost him everything.

After today's performance, there would be no question of _if _he was truly Force-sensitive, or the extent of his abilities. Surely even the Kaminoan had all the data he could ever want by now.

No, the real question, at least for Stonewall, was what were they going to do to him and Milo?

The noises of the mess hall filtered through his mind but he tried to shut them out and reach Kali again, even if only briefly. He was still exhausted from his session with Creon, but he needed to talk to her. At the very least, he needed to touch her spirit and assure himself that she and their child were well.

He sensed...something. In his mind's eye, the feeling was akin to seeing a faint star, barely visible through the deep blanket of the night. It was a shadow of their bond, dim and threadbare, and not nearly enough to satisfy, but it was enough to know she was alive, even if so very far away.

Beyond that, though, he could tell nothing, and he was wary of the collar around his neck.

"Cred for your thoughts?" Milo asked.

Blinking, Stonewall looked at his _vod, _and realized he'd set his fork down in favor of staring blankly at his plate. He tried to give Milo a reassuring smile, but his mouth wouldn't work properly. "I'm really sorry about before, Mi."

The younger clone shifted his shoulder, but the movement seemed to be unconscious. "Forgiven, Stonewall. I know you didn't want to hurt me. And honestly," Milo winced, "whatever that long-neck did to me with those _shabla_ sticky-things was much worse than your push. Never been attacked with the Force before," he added thoughtfully. "It was kind of interesting, actually."

"Sort of like being shoved by an invisible hand?"

Milo nodded. "Yeah. Wait...how do you know?"

Stonewall was able to offer his _vod _a real smile now. "Kali's thrown me around a little before." Milo's face reddened and the former captain winced. "Not...in a sexual way, Mi. Remember that time Lieutenant Wren and I were sparring, and it got out of hand?"

The mission had been about eight months ago. It had ended well-enough, but Stonewall and Wren had come to blows on more than one occasion. Kali had used the Force to break them apart at one point, much to Stonewall's embarrassment – and Wren's fury.

Milo's eyes widened as he nodded slowly. "Oh...yeah, I remember that." He chuckled and shook his head. "You would have had him."

Despite everything, Stonewall chuckled as well. "I like to think so."

Milo was quiet a moment, watching the young cadet move through the food-line. "Did Creon say what's going to happen to you?"

Stonewall looked back at his plate. It was one thing to think something, another to give voice to his fears. If he said them aloud, they would be true. But he couldn't keep this from Milo, both because there was no point in secrets any more, and because Mi deserved to know the truth.

"He didn't say, but I have an inkling. I think he wants to use me for...something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know." There were several possibilities, none of them pleasant. Stonewall shivered.

Someone stood beside Milo, who turned to look. A smile broke across his face at the sight of the young cadet, who held his full tray and was regarding Milo hopefully. Both clones sat up, and Stonewall was glad of the distraction.

"Here you go, Lev." Milo slid over on the bench and the cadet took a seat beside him, peering at Stonewall with open curiosity. Once the cadet was settled, Milo made introductions. "Stonewall, this is my new pal, Levy. Lev, this is my _vod, _Stonewall."

Stonewall saluted the lad, who ducked his head bashfully even as he grinned. The older clones exchanged amused looks, and began to eat again. After a moment, Milo cleared his throat and glanced between Stonewall and Levy. "I was telling him and the others about that mission with the invisible droids."

"That was...quite an experience," Stonewall replied, though he couldn't hold back a smile. It'd been an interesting mission all around, but the most notable changes had taken place in his and Kali's relationship. Thinking of happier times maybe should have made him more miserable, but thoughts of the woman he loved were always soothing, so he savored the brief respite from fear.

Levy sat up and looked between the older clones eagerly, a clear question in his eyes. Milo grinned and nudged his side. "Do you want more stories?"

The cadet nodded quickly, and Milo chuckled as he looked over at Stonewall. "What do you think? Mimban? Or how about all that business with Sanarl?" He glanced at Levy and dropped the pitch of his voice to be heavy with import. "We got to arrest _the _Shiv Sanarl."

Levy blanched and Milo winced. "Well, it started as an arrest, but we all wound up working together."

"What about Naboo?" Stonewall prompted. "Blarthy...?"

Milo's eyes lit up at the mention of the creature he happily would have adopted. "Oh! Yes. Blarthy. Now _there's _a fun story." He turned to the younger clone and began telling the tale, and Stonewall chuckled to himself at the way the lad regarded Mi with rapt attention.

_He's not a shiny any longer, is he? _No, despite his relentless optimism, Mi was no green soldier. He was capable and competent, and Stonewall realized with a pang that had they been back with the rest of Shadow, he'd have talked to Mi about a promotion. The others had always seemed content; it was not a fault, but rather an indication that they were where they wanted to be. Milo had been, to Stonewall's knowledge, happy to be a part of the squad, but nevertheless, he'd always striven to prove he could do _more._

But that was impossible now. This realization was more than a pang, it was a shot in the heart. Stonewall was valuable to the long-necks; he would probably not be disposed of any time soon, though whatever else they did might make him wish for a swift death. But Milo was, to a Kaminoan's way of thinking, superfluous.

Unless, of course, they planned to use Mi to coerce Stonewall again.

Guilt shuddered through the former captain as he watched Milo chatting with the cadet, but he tried to fight the feeling back. Maybe there was something he could do. Maybe he could save Milo, somehow...

"Ah, I had a hunch you were back." The words came from Stonewall's right; he turned as Zero plopped down beside him, tray balanced on his single hand. Levy tensed and looked down, and Milo's jaw snapped shut as he frowned.

"What do you mean?" Stonewall asked. He didn't know Zero very well, other than he made odd jokes and Milo didn't seem to think too highly of the guy. But in all honesty, he'd not spoken more than a few words to the one-armed clone.

Zero dug into his protein cubes like they were a juicy, grilled roba steak. "Den's gone."

Milo glanced up. "Gone...where?"

The one-armed clone gave Milo a vaguely exasperated look. "_Gone_." He set his fork down and snapped his fingers. "Processed."

Stonewall's stomach tightened. "Processed...?"

"You know," Zero said with a sigh. "Den's in that big growth-jar in the stars. Permanently Discharged, as you soldier-types would say." He picked up his fork and began to eat again, frowning as though he were quite put out. "Lucky sod."

Milo and Stonewall exchanged glances; Stonewall noted the look of horror on his brother's face, though it smoothed over as he turned to Levy, who'd stopped eating and begun to stare at his plate, blinking fast.

Immediately, Milo put his arm around the cadet's trembling shoulders. "It's okay, _vod_."

Zero rolled his eyes and looked at Stonewall. "I still don't understand why your friend bothers with the kid. It's beyond anyone's guess why he hasn't at _least _been reconditioned yet. I'd imagine that would solve all his lack-of-speech problems."

Stonewall frowned. "What do you mean?"

Zero chuckled and speared a piece of protein. "Process a unit...well, it's just so final, you know? And the Kaminoans don't like waste. But recondition him, and you can start over. You can take a defective clone like that," he indicated Levy, who flinched, "and make him brand-new. Wipe his memories clean and begin all over again. It's actually quite sensible."

"What the kriff is wrong with you?" Milo broke in, glaring at Zero. "How can you talk like that? Den was your _brother._"

"Like I told you before, we don't have brothers here," Zero replied with a shrug.

Milo's glare deepened. "Maybe not, but you still shouldn't speak of him like that. Have a little respect."

Zero's fork hit his plate with a clatter and his reply was forced out between clenched teeth. "_Respect?_ What's the point in respecting the dead? I _envy_ Den. He's _free_ of this place."

The room quieted for one moment before the monotone chatter picked up again. Stonewall was able to get a sense of Zero's emotions, though they were faint and not pleasant. Bitterness, sorrow, anger...and fear. It was everywhere, here, though each clone in The Dregs had it in different measures. Had he been without the limiting collar, Stonewall thought the feeling of fear would have choked him.

But over all those emotions, even the fear, was one thing.

_Acceptance. _

Stonewall glanced around the mess hall as if seeing the other Sector Nine clones for the first time. He'd gotten a sense of it in bits and pieces, but only now did everything fall into alignment. The clones here spoke to one another, but it was by route. No one sat too close. No one smiled. No one joked around or traded stories of their days, because there was nothing to say. The lull of conversation was steady, but it had no spirit.

He looked back at Zero, who now ate his food without speaking, each movement practiced, smooth, and his eyes were blank. By contrast, Milo tried to comfort Levy, hugging him close and speaking in a light voice of happier times.

No other clone seemed to notice, or care. Stonewall didn't know who "Den" was, but he figured that none of the others here would mourn him, especially given what Milo had said. These men did not fight their fate. They did not curse their lot or their batch, or their situation. They simply existed from one moment to the next, and hoped for an end. They had nothing better; they never had.

The Dregs, indeed.

* * *

A/N: Kamino sucks. :( Take heart in the fact that percentage-wise, our time here is brief.

If you're familiar with my other fics, (specifically the _Eye Of the Storm _trilogy and _Wild Blue Yonder_), you might recognize Levy. You'll also recognize the new POV appearing in the next chapter. ;) Also, consider the mention of Shadow Squad's mission with **impoeia**'s OCs a teaser for a WIP fic.


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: This chapter references events from _Untouchable _and_ Old Wounds._

Lyrics: "Carried," by KT Tunstall, from the album, _Invisible Empire / Crescent Moon._

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

_Is every move a known footprint fossilized?_

_A rare remake, realized?_

_And if you fall too soon,_

_I'll carry you._

_On Coruscant..._

Jedi Knight Honi Tallis frowned at her patient but tried to keep her voice professional as she continued her questions. "Have you noticed swelling in any other areas?"

Master Vos chuckled and flashed her a wide smile. "Ah, come on, Tallis. You really want me to answer that?"

"I do." Honi leveled the Kiffar Jedi with her most stern look. "But only with a serious reply. No more jokes, Master Vos. This is your health at stake."

"You," Vos said with a sigh and a shake of his head that caused his dreadlocks to sway, "are not nearly as much fun as Kali."

"I," Honi replied sharply, "am _not _my former master. A fact you should be well-aware of. Now, please answer the question. I have other patients, and you're keeping me from them."

Quinlan Vos sighed again and leaned back against the biobed, folding his hands over his stomach and giving her a tolerant smile. "Nah, no other swelling. Just the foot. Kriff knows what I got into on Felucia, but it did _not _like me."

Nodding absently, Honi entered the information into her datapad, where she knew it would be transferred to the Kiffar Jedi's chart with only a few swipes of her fingertips. As she did, she brushed back a stray strand of coppery hair that had come loose from the braid pinned to her head. If she'd had a spare moment, she'd have redone her hair simply to keep it out of the way and prevent valuable time from being wasted, but as it was, she had a full day ahead.

The Halls of Healing were busier than usual, and Honi blamed it on the never-ending Wars. While the clone medics were adept at keeping each other and their Jedi alive on the battlefield, they were no substitutions for trained Jedi Healers like herself. As one of the few Jedi able to perform morichro, the act of putting a patient into Force-stasis, Honi was especially sought after, though most of her patients were Jedi. It seemed that the casualties had only increased lately, such that most days, Honi barely remembered to eat something. It wasn't her fault; there simply was no time.

Even Obi-Wan Kenobi was not immune, though thinking of the fallen Jedi made Honi far more weary than she should have been. When his light had faded, everything had seemed that much more hopeless, and a new, unspoken current of understanding had flooded the Temple; it was a sink-or-swim time for the Order, and every hand was needed to keep the Jedi afloat.

Rewarding work, to be sure, but sometimes, lately, it did not seem to be _enough. _

A familiar Force-presence reached her, so she glanced up, and sighed at the familiar, blue-skinned form of her Padawan as Zara trotted into Quinlan Vos' room. Agitation eddied around the teenage Nautolan-Twi'lek hybrid, and Zara's dark eyes were wide.

But Honi was in no mood. "Have you finished those cultures? We need to find out what's wrong with Master Vos."

"The answer changes depending on who you ask," the Kiffar Jedi supplied, winking at the Padawan.

Honi ignored him and studied her apprentice, who looked a bit shell-shocked. "Well?"

"Master Windu is looking for you," Zara blurted out, her multiple _lekku _trembling with emotion. "He asked me to tell you that he needs to speak with you immediately."

_Of all the times... _Sighing, Honi shook her head. "I'm quite busy – as you should be aware. Tell him I'll be one moment."

Zara blanched. "Um...are you sure...?"

"Of course I'm sure," Honi replied, lifting her chin.

"Because I think it's about your old–"

"Zara, I don't have time–"

"But I saw a story on the HoloNet about–"

"Run _along_, Zara," Honi broke in, shaking her head. "No more dawdling."

Once her Padawan scampered out of the room, Honi turned her attention back to the datapad. She'd collected all the research she could about plant species native to Felucia, and narrowed them down to those that were known to cause topical irritation. One Jedi's swollen foot was not a great cause for concern, but there were quite a few clone companies on the jungle world, not to mention several other Jedi. If there was a plant – or she supposed it could have been a fungus – that caused this sort of issue, it should be ascertained immediately.

"Wow. Putting Mace off like that." Vos clucked his tongue. "Ballsy. Maybe you _are _Kali's Padawan."

Honi huffed and glanced at him. "I'm doing important medical research for the good of the entire Order. I didn't put Master Windu off; I simply can't drop everything I'm doing at a moment's notice. And," she added sharply, "I don't know what you're implying by constantly referring to my former Master, but you should know that I haven't seen or spoken to Kalinda in Force-knows how long, so I don't–"

"Well, that answers _one_ of my questions."

The familiar, deep baritone of Mace Windu sent ice down Honi's spine and made her stomach twist. Still, she managed to turn and give a smooth bow to the second-most senior member of the Jedi Order, who was regarding her with one of his trademark frowns. Zara stood a pace behind him, hands wringing and _lekku _flushing indigo with barely-restrained agitation.

The only person seemingly _not _affected by Mace Windu was Quinlan Vos, who gave a lazy, two-fingered salute. "Hey, Mace. How's it hanging?"

Master Windu's dark eyes flickered to him, but the Korunn Jedi's gaze soon fell back on Honi. "I'd like to speak with you privately, Knight Tallis," he said, adding a firm, "_Now_."

Honi knew when she was beaten, but she didn't have to like it. She handed Zara her 'pad and leveled her own stern gaze at the blue-skinned girl. "Finish questioning Master Vos. But don't transfer anything to his chart until one of the Healers has had a chance to look the data over. And don't–"

Master Windu cleared his throat and Honi sighed. "Very well."

As she followed Windu out of Vos' room, she heard the Kiffar Jedi's perplexed voice. "Is she always like that?"

"Pretty much," was Zara's reply. "You get used to it, though."

Neither Honi nor Windu spoke as they moved through the Halls of Healing, brushing past a multitude of other patients, mostly Jedi, though it was not uncommon to see a few clone troopers who'd been placed here for extra care. Truthfully, Honi hardly spared them a glance; she was one of the more proficient Healers, so her skills were usually directed solely toward other Jedi.

They reached an empty examination room, and Honi felt a thrill of foreboding as Master Windu activated the lock, and another when he crossed his arms and regarded her with dark eyes that missed nothing. "When was the last time you saw Kalinda Halcyon?"

"It's been quite some time. I saw her not long after the skirmish at Basrah – she needed a Healer – but that was nearly two years ago. The last time we _spoke _was when she comm'd me about eight months ago."

"What did she want?"

Honi frowned in thought. "I'm not sure. She was rather vague, even for her."

Master Windu's gaze sharpened. "Explain."

"She asked me if I'd ever heard of a Force-sensitive gaining their abilities later in life, after they'd matured. I hadn't – it's impossible, of course – and when I told her so, and asked her why _she _was asking, she indicated it was purely hypothetical."

Shortly after _that_ odd conversation, Kalinda had questioned Honi about her love-life, which had naturally prompted Honi to end the call as soon as possible; in retrospect, she wondered if her former Master hadn't done so on purpose, to keep her from asking too many questions. But there was no reason to go into that now, as it was speculation without a basis in fact.

Instead, Honi sighed and smoothed back an errant strand of coppery hair. "I know it's an odd thing to ask, but Kalinda has always had a...wayward imagination, so I didn't press the issue. I saw no reason to."

Master Windu nodded slowly, but his gaze was distant, unfocused, and she was certain he was trying to reach out through the Force. Since the probing wasn't directed at her, and given his concern about Kalinda, it was reasonable to assume he was looking for the other Jedi, though _why _he couldn't just comm her was beyond Honi's ken.

A host of unpleasant theories began to form in Honi's mind. Her former master had a penchant for getting into unorthodox situations, but she could be reckless and impulsive, and far too often let her emotions sway her actions. Ever since Honi had learned that Kalinda had been drafted into service with a squad of clones, she'd found herself thinking of her former master more and more, and hoping that the dark-haired woman kept herself safe. For all of her foibles, Kalinda Halcyon had been a kind and patient teacher.

"What's wrong?" she asked, drawing Windu's eyes her way. "Is Kalinda alright? Has she been wounded?"

"As far as I know, she is unharmed."

"Then...what's going on?"

The Jedi Master frowned and shook his head. "It is not your concern, Knight Tallis. You may return to your duties. However, if you hear from Kalinda Halcyon, you are to contact me immediately. Is that clear?"

Honi nodded and he brushed past her, unlocking the door and slipping into the main room without another word. Frowning to herself, Honi hurried back to Vos' room, in case Zara had made a mistake. As she arrived, the blue-skinned girl was stepping out into the corridor, happily waving goodbye to Master Vos.

"Master!" Zara said, holding out the 'pad. "It went fine. Here's the data you asked for."

Honi accepted the 'pad and scanned the information, though her thoughts were light-years away. After a moment she glanced at her Padawan, who met her gaze hopefully. "What is it?"

Zara hesitated, then dropped her voice to a whisper. "Can you tell me what Master Windu wanted?"

The Halls of Healing were busy, but Honi knew from experience that no one cared about personal conversations when they had mountains of work to do. A Jedi and her Padawan gossiping in the corridor would garner little attention. Still, that didn't mean she was obligated to tell Zara anything.

"He just had some questions for me," she said after a beat. "Nothing important. Now, about those cultures–"

But Zara's eyes were wide, black pools, swirling with excitement. "Was it about Knight Halcyon?"

Now, Honi glanced around, worried that someone would overhear, even unwittingly. There was a cluster of Healers about ten paces away, so Honi grabbed Zara's arm and steered her back into Vos' room.

"Why would you ask that?" she asked as soon as she shut the door behind them.

Zara frowned. "I was trying to tell you before, Master. It's on the HoloNet."

"What is?" This came from Quinlan Vos, who now sat up in his bed and regarded Zara with interest.

Honi glared at him, but before she could move Zara to another, less occupied area, Zara continued, glancing between her master and the Kiffar Jedi. "No one knows for sure, but they're saying that Knight Halcyon has defected from the Jedi Order."

Honi's mouth opened but no sound came out.

She was the only one.

"Holy kriffing hell!" Vos exclaimed. "Are you fragging kidding me? Kali's AWOL? When? What happened? How? Does anyone know where she is now?"

"This doesn't concern you," Honi snapped at him, but he ignored her and regarded Zara, who began to rock back and forth on her heels, _lekku _trembling.

"I don't know," Zara said, shaking her head. "It was just a blurb I happened to catch at lunch. No one knows any details, except there's something about her running off with some clones...?"

Vos snorted and crossed his arms before his chest; he would have looked quite foreboding if not for the flimsi sheet he wore as a robe. "Clones. Figures. Sometimes, I think those fekkers are more trouble than they're worth."

"Watch your language," Honi replied sharply, hoping to hide her own agitation. "Zara's only fourteen. Far too young to be influenced by the likes of you."

But the Kiffar Jedi didn't seem to notice her ire. "Kriffing hell. Hey, can I borrow that datapad, Tallis? I need to check the HNN."

"This one is mine," Honi said, ushering Zara toward the door. "But I'll have another sent to you in a moment." Without another word, she urged her Padawan out of the Kiffar Jedi's room and shut the door behind them, hastily entering the code for "do not disturb" on the lock panel. That would keep him occupied for a little while, at least.

"Master...?"

Not speaking, Honi grabbed Zara's arm and hurried to the room where Master Windu had questioned her; thankfully, it was still vacant. The moment she locked the door, she turned to her Padawan, who looked nothing short of terrified.

"Where did you read about Kalinda?"

Zara pointed to the datapad in Honi's hand. "It was one of the 'breaking news' pages on the HoloNet. You can probably see it if you do a search..."

As quickly as she could, Honi activated the HNN link on the 'pad, entered Kalinda's name, and stared at the results in disbelief. It was a small story, only a single paragraph, likely the result of someone being at the right place at the right time.

_Witnesses report seeing Jedi Knight Kalinda Halcyon using what is believed to be a "Force-push" against a squad of GAR soldiers after they attempted to detain her on the Coruscant Guard barracks' landing platform. The Coruscant Guard commander declined to comment, but other eyewitnesses indicated that Halcyon and three unidentified clone troopers fled the area after the attack. When questioned about the event, including Halcyon's potential motives for defection, the Jedi Council also declined to comment, stating only that the matter was "an internal affair of the Order."_

"Master?"

Honi blinked. She'd read the article three times, but it still made no sense. _She's always walked her own path, but I never thought..._

What was going on? Why had Kalinda defected? A dozen possibilities flew through Honi's mind, but she discarded them one-by-one as she considered her former Master's fate. On the run, with three clone soldiers in tow but without the Temple's resources. Assuming Kalinda had not left Coruscant, there were only a few places she likely would have gone, and Honi knew them all. Kalinda had trained her well.

A light touch on her arm brought her out of her haze, and she looked up into Zara's wide, almost all-black eyes. "Master Tallis?"

The girl's voice was soft and uncertainty rippled from her, so Honi tried to control her own emotions, which were oddly out-of-balance. Kalinda was not her Master any longer. Their time together had ended years ago, and though they were still on friendly terms, there was no reason for her to feel this..._agitation_ over the dark-haired woman who'd taken her on after her first Master had been killed.

Zara said her name again, and this time it was enough to snap Honi completely out of her haze. She deactivated the 'pad and tucked it into a pocket of her Healer's robes, then glanced at her Padawan. "I'm fine, Zara. Just...startled."

Zara nodded, but her _lekku _still shivered. "I wonder what happened to make her leave?"

It was no secret that Kalinda Halcyon had never seen eye-to-eye with the Council, but surely matters would not have reached the breaking point. Perhaps Obi-Wan could have talked some sense into his friend, but of course that was impossible.

"I don't know," Honi admitted, frowning.

The Padawan's eyes grew larger than normal. "This is really bad, isn't it? I've never heard of anyone leaving like this...not since Count Dooku! Do you think she's turned to the dark side? Do you think they'll put a bounty on her? Do you think she'll get thrown into prison? And why would she run off with clones?"

Honi's breath caught in her chest, and she found herself leaning against the nearest biobed as if she needed the support. She had to find Kalinda. There were too many questions, and so few answers. She told herself that it was her Healer's nature to want to shift the balance.

But it was a lie.

* * *

_Elsewhere..._

_Shadows clutch at her, trying to pull her down, down, like the strong hand that coils in her hair and pushes her to her knees. When she looks up, she sees only shadows. There is nothing of the man she loves within the lines of his body._

_"__Look at me."_

_Is it her voice, or his? They used to be so different, but she cannot tell any longer. _

_A blank stare meets hers; his helmet tilts and she sees her own reflection cast back. Her eyes are wide and streaked with wet, and she is more afraid than she has ever been in her life. She has never been afraid in his presence, so it must be true – he must be gone._

_"__Look at me. Open your eyes, and _look_ at me."_

_She can't think, can hardly breathe. Her heart lashes against her ribcage as if trying to break her body to pieces, and the ground is hard and unyielding beneath her knees. She can see her face in his, a dark mirror of what she is supposed to be. What _they_ were supposed to be._

_All around, weapons fire; the bolts are a timpani that ricochet around the galaxy. They scatter through the shadows and consume whoever stands in their way, and she is helpless against them too. _

_"__Please," she manages, reaching to him. "Please...look at me."_

_But her voice is small and timid, and the scream of blaster-fire is so much easier to hear, and he does not reply..._

Kalinda gasped as she sat up in bed. Her heart pounded, her body was coated in a layer of sweat, and she had no kriffing idea where she was. There was light outside her window, but it was wrong, neon pink and flashing. The room was unfamiliar, as was the bed, and it felt too empty. Something chirruped beside her, but before she could reach for the comlink, the door to the room slid open and three men burst inside. They spoke almost in unison.

Trax was at her side first, light-brown eyes fixed on hers. "What's wrong?"

"Are you okay?" Weave asked, scanner in one hand, hypo in another.

Crest was last, glancing around the room warily as if making sure it was clear. "What can we do to help?"

Her comlink chimed again, and she shook her head once, still trying to shake the dream away. Taung Heights...she was in Taung Heights, in an apartment of Dex's that he'd graciously let her and the guys use for the time being.

"It's okay...I'm fine." She glanced at the comlink and noted that it was the morning after...well, everything, along with the source of the incoming message. "I need to get this..."

The guys relaxed and stepped back, though Weave still held his scanner. None of them left. As she accepted the transmission, she glanced down to make sure she was clothed, as she had no memory of coming to bed last night. _Yes, thank the Force._

A familiar figure bloomed from the holo-link, and Kali did not miss how Crest took a step back as Sita Hari, the queen of the planet Aruna, appeared before Kali, small and blue and flickering. Her white hair, common among her people, was fashioned in an elaborate crown of braids on top of her head, she was dressed in swathes of shimmersilk and dripping with jewelry, and her expression was nothing short of terrified.

"_There _you are," Sita said by way of greeting, though she did offer a short bow almost as an afterthought. "Gods above and below...I was worried half to death!"

_I suppose this means she got my message, at any rate. _Kali smoothed out her hair and sat up, crossing her legs and trying not to feel _quite_ so awkward speaking to the queen of an entire planet while in her sleep-clothes with the guys looking on. Also, she really, really had to use the 'fresher. "Er...I'm sorry?"

The Arunai woman frowned, though it was not in irritation. Kali knew her well enough to recognize the look as one of confusion. "I only just received your message, but I saw the news story last night. What is going on?"

The clones exchanged bewildered looks, and Kali's stomach knotted. "Sita, I just woke up, and haven't quite caught up to the rest of the galaxy. What news story?"

Sita took a deep breath and seemed to have to work to gather her calm. Indeed, a moment later her chin lifted and her face smoothed into the carefully neutral expression favored by politicians. She was younger than Kali by a number of years, in her mid-twenties, but she carried herself like someone much older. It had not always been so. When Kali had first met her, Sita was a farmer's daughter whose life had taken a fantastical turn; she'd fallen in love with the king of Aruna, who had wanted her crowned his queen. Due to Aruna's rigid caste-system, there'd been some...growing pains, naturally, but despite the impossibility of the situation, Sita had handled her new life with grace. It had helped that she'd been very much in love.

Until the king had died, and she'd been left to a task for which she was wholly unprepared. Sita had loved her husband, but she'd had little clue how to rule a planet, and there had been those who'd sought to push her out of the throne. Kali, Shadow Squad, and Obi-Wan had helped restore order to Aruna.

Stonewall had also gotten use of the Force on that world, but that was still something of a mystery.

Once she'd collected herself, Sita knelt before the holo-transmitter in the Arunai fashion, placing her hands in her lap and sitting still as she spoke in her musical accent. "There is a story on the Coruscant HoloNet," she began quietly. "It is brief, but quite incriminating. Apparently, you have defected from the Jedi Order."

She paused to enter something into her transmitter, but Kali hardly noticed. Her heart had dropped to her stomach and her mouth hung open in shock. She glanced over to the guys, all of whom looked about as stunned as she felt, though Weave had whipped out his datapad and was furiously entering information.

Kali's comlink buzzed again and Sita exhaled. "I sent you the story so you may see for yourself. But it is as I have said."

"I haven't..." Kali rubbed her temple, trying to focus. "I haven't defected, Sita. I'm just..." She sighed and shook her head. "Well, I haven't _officially_ defected, but I suppose that's where this was headed."

They were probably going to kick her out anyway. Force knew she'd flaunted enough of their rules even _before _she'd taken up with her clone captain; purposefully getting pregnant – and secretly married – was probably grounds for expulsion.

Weave cleared his throat. "Is that transmission secured?"

"This is my private comm station." Sita's head swiveled, though Kali knew she couldn't have seen the clones where they stood; even so, Crest took a step back, rubbing his hands nervously. "Your men are with you?" she asked Kali.

"Most of them," she replied, feeling her throat get tight all over again. "Actually, that's why I wanted to talk to you."

She gave Sita a brief summary of the events that had led them here, though she left out Stone's Force-abilities, focusing only on their relationship, and the fact that he and Milo had been sent away. Until she knew for certain who'd ordered Stonewall's arrest, there was no reason to share his Force-sensitivity; nor did it much matter at this point. He was gone. She _would_ get him back, but for now...he was gone.

As Kali spoke, the young queen listened solemnly, interrupting only to ask a few clarifying questions. Once Sita had been caught up, Kali paused and glanced at the clones again. Traxis stood by the bedroom door, one hand resting on a pistol he wore at his hip, gaze fixed on the interior of the apartment, ever-watchful. Weave stood at the room's center, eyes darting across his datapad as he absorbed whatever information he'd found. Crest was about as far away from the comlink as he could be; he stood beside the room's single, large window and peered outside, though he cast occasional glances at the holographic figure.

Though Stonewall's time on Aruna was more...formative, Crest had not left the world without making some new memories; not long after they'd left, he'd told Kali about the kiss he'd shared with the young queen. Kali didn't know much more than that – the bald clone had been remarkably laconic about the event – but she figured it was the reason Crest was reluctant to see Sita, or be seen by her.

Kali took a deep breath and met Sita's gaze. "Regardless of what anyone else thinks I've done, I doubt that my own life is in danger. But the guys..." She trailed off, unwilling to voice the uncomfortable truth.

But Traxis, apparently, had no such qualms. "An AWOL clone is useless to the army," he put in from the doorway, loud enough for Sita to hear; the Arunai woman's brows knitted and she tilted her head as if trying to see the speaker. "It means he doesn't follow orders. Soldiers who don't follow orders are fekked."

Sita frowned and Kali tried to clarify. "If they are captured now, they will probably not be allowed to live. I must do everything in my power to make sure they are safe."

At her words, Trax and Crest looked over, clearly startled, but Weave continued to scan his 'pad. Kali would have smiled had worry not been knotting her stomach. "The reason I comm'd you was to ask...if you could possibly send a ship, perhaps give them asylum of some kind while we figure out our next move."

"Now, hang on... We're not crazy!" Crest broke in, apparently forgetting that he was trying not to be noticed by the woman in the holo, who started and turned toward him.

Weave glanced up at this. "Wrong kind of asylum, _vod. _She means she wants us to have some kind of official sanction so we won't be able to be arrested – by anyone, even the GAR. She's asking for Queen Hari to protect us."

All the clones looked at Kali, who nodded. "Exactly." She looked back at Sita. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm about out of options."

She didn't miss Weave's furrowed brow – likely he was thinking about Kali's conversation with Ro yesterday – but she didn't say anything as she waited for the young queen's reply.

After what felt like a long time, Sita shook her head, and Kali's stomach sank. "I am afraid it is not that simple," she replied slowly. "I may be queen, but there are laws that prevent me from extending such protections to those not physically _on _Aruna, particularly those in legal trouble with the Republic.

"However," Sita slanted Kali a faint smile, "There is nothing that prohibits me from safeguarding those who reach my world of their own means. Do you understand?"

"If they can make it to Aruna, they'll be safe," Kali said, nodding.

Sita made a graceful bow. "For a while, at the very least. I will look into the legality of the situation, but I am confident there is a solution. In the meantime, once they reach my world, your men will be protected from even the Republic's reach. An arrest warrant _could_ potentially be issued, but it would likely take months to procure, let alone enforce..."

She trailed off, leaving Kali to draw her own conclusions, and the two women exchanged knowing looks. The knot in Kali's stomach relaxed a bit, and she exhaled deeply. For once, it seemed that the bloated bureaucracy might work in the clones' favor. She and Sita discussed a few more details before ending the transmission.

The moment the holographic image died, Weave cleared his throat. "What about...?"

"Altis?" Kali swung her feet over the bed's edge and stood up, stretching out her legs and shoulders, which felt cramped. With the quieting of her nerves, she'd realized she was actually hungry; even better, there was no trace of morning-sickness today. Small mercies.

Though, of course, the pressure on her bladder was reaching critical levels.

Crest had come back over, regarding the comlink with an unreadable expression; Traxis kept his vigil by the door, though he was likely listening to every word.

Weave nodded. "Ro seemed to think we'd be welcome with the Altisian Jedi."

"No doubt you would," Kali replied. "But in my experience, it's wise to have a backup plan or two, in case matters don't play out as you expect." She looked over at Crest, who lifted his brow in inquiry. "You didn't have any leftovers from Dex's last night, did you? I think I could eat an entire ronto."

Crest rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Rontos are pretty chewy, but I'll bet I can whip something up that you'll like better. Want some caf, too?"

"No caf," Weave blurted out, causing everyone to look at him. Kali frowned, and he shook his head quickly. "Uh...for anyone. We're going to get hooked on the stuff."

"Too effing late," Trax muttered, rolling his eyes as he slipped out of the bedroom. Crest followed, with the medic on his heels, and Kali was left alone.

She would have dwelled on Weave's outburst, but for the fact that she'd rushed to the 'fresher.

* * *

About an hour later, Kali felt a great deal more Human. A shower and change of clothes had done wonders, though she figured she'd have to find something other than her robes to wear; for being made of simple, beige cloth, they stood out rather sharply as they branded her a Jedi.

She was not scheduled to meet the bounty hunter, Ares Tabora, for several hours, so Kali found herself in an unwelcome period of respite. The guys were able to keep busy with what seemed like an endless reorganization of their supplies, but she was at something of a loss as to what to do with herself.

So she did the unthinkable. She meditated.

Like all Jedi, Kali was adept at meditating in any environment, including noisy ones filled with clones who cleaned their weapons, chattered to one another, and scoured the HoloNet for any useful information. Perhaps she could have shut herself in the apartment's single bedroom, but she had no wish to be alone right now, and the familiar cadence of their voices was a comfort.

Kali sat on the couch and concentrated on her breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Worry tugged at the edges of her mind, and for once she did not try to push the feeling away, because she knew it would not go. The man she loved – her husband, the father of her child – was gone, possibly for good; another man she considered family was lost with him; the men who'd bound themselves to her fate without hesitation were likely branded criminals and would be killed should they be captured; her child's future was uncertain, at best.

There was much to worry about. But pushing the feeling back would only cause it to gain strength, so Kali allowed it to filter through her thoughts, allowed it to sweep over her. It was useless, at first, and the more she focused on her fears, the more they pulled apart her heart and mind. There was so much that could go wrong, so much that could be lost, that she could lose...

_Inhale_; she gathered up her fears, her worries, her frustrations. _Exhale_; she released them into the Force. They were not gone, but if she was going to help anyone, she needed to be calm. She could not be afraid of what the future would bring. _Here_ and _now_; those were the only two things she could control, so those were what needed to hold the bulk of her focus. The future and the past were important to keep in her awareness, but the present deserved the most attention.

Inhale. Exhale.

Kali lost herself to the eddies of the Force, reaching out with her awareness just to get a sense of the energy around her. The guys were worried, as she was, but they had thrown themselves into their respective tasks with admirable determination. She felt their attentions shift to her periodically, but they were used to her habits and knew better than to disturb her when she was doing her "Jedi-thing," as Crest often spoke of it.

Beneath the worry, though, was affection and a resounding confidence in her, which both humbled and bewildered Kali. She did not think herself as capable as they seemed to, but their belief in her bolstered her own strength, and she resolved to show them their faith was not misplaced. Her guys; her family. They were marvels, every one.

Smiling to herself, Kali extended her awareness a little farther. What she found was a determined mind, one whose focus was sharper than nearly anyone Kali had ever met, particularly when the mind's owner had set herself upon a task. However, along with those familiar feelings, there was an undercurrent of worry, centered on Kalinda, and it was this that made the dark-haired Jedi truly curious. There was no malice in Honi's thoughts, but it was unusual for her emotions to be so...unfettered.

It had been some time since Kali had crossed paths with her former apprentice. What in the stars Honi did expect to accomplish by seeking her out? With any luck, she'd find out soon.

Kali opened her eyes, blinking slowly as she pulled herself from the trance, and cleared her throat. "Crest?"

"Yeah, Boss?"

She sighed. Old habits died hard. Still, it was better than 'General.' "Would you heat up some more of that tea you made for me? We're about to have a visitor."

"Are you effing serious?" Traxis sprang to his feet, rifle in one hand, pistol in the other as he lunged for the door.

Crest and Weave rose as well, though neither reached for their weapons. The bald clone shifted and glanced her way. "Er...friendly or unfriendly?"

Kali considered how to answer the question. "Friendly. I think. It's hard to say with her sometimes." She shrugged and indicated the kitchen. "No matter what, I'd like to offer her some tea..."

"Sure! Why the kriff not?" Crest shook his head in confusion, but slipped off to the kitchen.

While Traxis peered through the viewscreen affixed to the door, one that gave a panoramic view of the hallway, Weave moved to Kali's side. "Who is it?"

Kali smiled at him, but before she could respond, the chime on the lock panel by the door sounded. Traxis, being the closest to the panel, activated it; the viewscreen switched to a feed from an outside monitor, revealing a fair-skinned, coppery haired Human woman.

"Who the fek are you?" Trax growled into the speaker.

Honi frowned. "I should ask that of _you_."

Kali stood up and headed to the door; she gently urged Trax out of the way to greet her former Padawan. "Good to see you, Honi. Crest is making some tea for us, so I'll ring you up."

Without waiting for a response, she shut off the viewscreen and touched the panel, allowing Honi access; she'd not given out her location, just in case, but she knew Honi would be able to find her way up. Kriff, she'd gotten this far.

Once the viewscreen was dark, Trax glowered at her; given his scar, it was quite a ferocious expression. "Kali, who the kriff is that woman? She looked like a vaping Jedi."

"She _is_ a vaping Jedi," Kali replied, pleased that he'd called her by her nickname. _Finally. It only took what, two years and a major tragedy? _Though they'd not spoken privately since their talk last night, he seemed more at ease around her, and him using her nickname confirmed her feeling.

At this, the guys all straightened, and she could practically feel them going into battle-mode. "Are you certain that's wise?" Weave asked. "Can she be trusted?"

"I don't know," Kali admitted with a shake of her head. "But I sensed nothing...amiss in her intentions, and I would like to see my old Padawan."

Several minutes later there was another chime at the door. Kali had taken a seat at the rounded dining table, along with two steaming mugs of tea, while Crest and Weave sat on the couch, watching the door with wariness. Traxis had insisted upon playing bouncer, though Kali had had to dissuade him from doing so while armed to the teeth. She glanced over at the _hiss _of the opening door and watched in amusement as her former Padawan eyed the armored clone up and down, clearly unimpressed with his formidable presence.

"Where is she?" It was less a question and more a demand.

Trax's reply was equally as curt. "Inside."

The tightness of his voice indicated he was grinding his teeth, likely because he'd wanted to confiscate any weapons Honi might be carrying, but Kali had refused him that, too. It was another testament to the renewed trust between them that he had offered no argument besides a deep scowl and a few choice swears.

Kalinda rose as Honi stepped into the apartment, and watched her former apprentice take her in. Even the Wars had not changed Honi Tallis. She was still tall and lean, her face was still angular, her eyes still that sharp, clear blue. The severity of her features was mitigated by a sprinkle of freckles along her nose and the apples of her cheeks, and the bright hair that seemed perpetually unruly, despite Honi's attempts to tame it with pins and braids. She was dressed in her Jedi robes, as Kali was, but she also carried a canvas bag slung over one shoulder.

Honi's gaze swept over her, as did the younger woman's inquiring Force-presence, which Kali did not recoil from. Most Jedi would have asked permission before prodding another, but tact had never been one of Honi's strong suits.

After a moment, Honi set down her bag and gave Kalinda an exasperated look. "Taung Heights? Really?"

"It was the best I could do on short notice and minimal creds."

Honi frowned and glanced at the clones on the couch. "And _they're_ here because...?"

"Because they're part of my team," Kali answered easily. Her words were emphasized as Traxis stepped toward the table, halting beside her chair with a stony _don't-try-anything-funny_ expression.

Honi was silent a moment, clearly waiting for more explanation, but Kalinda did not offer one. It would happen soon enough, and she wanted to get a sense of exactly why the other woman had come before she revealed too much. Just in case.

After a moment, Honi sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Are you well? You seem...different."

Alarm coursed through Kali, and she silently cursed herself for not thinking of this sooner. Honi was a top-notch Healer, adept at diagnosing patients simply through a careful brush with the Force. If anyone in the galaxy would know she was pregnant just by _looking_, it was Honi Tallis.

Rather than answer directly, Kali sat and indicated the chair opposite her. "Have a seat. I think there's a few things we need to discuss."

Before Honi reached the table, she offered the canvas bag to Weave, who accepted it carefully. "Some old things of mine and Zara's," Honi said as she sat down opposite Kali. "A few changes of clothing and other...necessities." She slanted Kali a knowing look. "I would have preferred to bring you your own items, but given the conversation I had with Master Windu, I thought it would be unwise to be seen anywhere near your quarters."

Kali stared at her old Padawan, trying to sift through the dozens of questions that had sprung up from Honi's speech. At last she leaned back in her chair and sipped her tea. "Zara?"

"My Padawan."

It took every ounce of self-control Kali possessed _not _to spit out her drink. As it was, she began to cough, and a few droplets of tea sputtered across the table. "_You_ have a Padawan? Since _when_?"

Honi's brows furrowed. "A few months, now. All Knights are expected to take Padawans, Kalinda. It's how things are done."

"I know." Kali swiped her sleeve across the spilled tea, pointedly ignoring Honi's look of disapproval. "It's just...I always thought you'd be the exception to the rule." She glanced at Traxis, who was glowering at the copper-haired Jedi. "Honi's not known for her patience."

"Hard to believe," the scarred clone replied blandly.

"In _any_ case," Honi broke in, "Zara had some old things she wasn't using any longer, as did I, and I assumed that you would have need of some new gear. You're welcome."

Kalinda smiled and reached past her tea to clasp Honi's slender hand in her own. "You've always looked out for me, Honi. Thank you for doing so, now. _Especially_ now."

The other Jedi's pale cheeks flushed and she looked down, waves of embarrassment rippling off of her, along with a measure of satisfaction. "Yes...well, you've done much the same for me on more occasions than I can count. It was the right thing to do."

Nodding, Kali released her former Padawan's hand and leaned back in her chair. "You mentioned Mace?"

Honi was still and silent. Her expression darkened, just for a moment, until her forehead smoothed and she nodded slowly. "Yes. He sought me out this morning. He wanted to know if I had seen or spoken to you recently."

Where a cautious wariness had emanated from all the clones, now their mood collectively shifted to one of outright frustration, heavily laced with anger and dashed with helplessness. Weave and Crest straightened as if about to run over, though a look from Kali made them keep their place.

However, Traxis, still standing at Kali's shoulder, gave a snarl of fury and leaned forward, jabbing his finger toward Honi. "Is that why you came here? To report her to General-effing-Windu?"

"Trax..."

But he didn't listen; instead, he pitched his voice to a lower, more threatening register. "If you karking want her, you'll have to get through us. And I don't play nice."

Honi stared at him, unflinching. "That's an incredibly short leap of logic. Why would I bring her new clothes if I intended to turn her over to the Council?"

"It makes for a good cover." Weave's voice sounded closer. Kali glanced over and realized he and Crest had risen from the couch and were coming to stand behind her as well.

"Yeah," Crest added, crossing his arms before his chest as he frowned at Honi. "You could run back to the Temple and let those Jedi bigwigs know _right_ where to find Kalinda."

Honi's nostrils flared as she drew herself up, indignation pouring off of her. "That's absurd. I would never do anything of the kind."

This was getting out of hand. Kali loved her guys, but they were going to get themselves decapitated if they stayed in "protective-soldier mode." She cleared her throat. "Guys, calm down, okay? We're all on the same side. More or less."

"It's the 'less' part that bothers us," Crest muttered.

Kalinda exhaled deeply and looked at her former apprentice. "Are you going to tell Mace where I am or what I'm doing?"

To her surprise, Honi was quiet a moment. Through the Force, Kali sensed that Honi's indignation had faded to a kind of reluctant acquiescence, until she shook her head. "No, Kalinda. That was never my intention, though I admit I do harbor the hope that you will return with me."

Kali gave her a sad smile. "I'm afraid that's not possible right now."

"As I gathered." Honi sighed again and rested her hands on the table and studied the dark-haired Jedi carefully. "What happened?"

"Oh, this old song and dance again," Crest broke in, his voice weary. "I'm going to the 'fresher. Someone call me if something interesting happens."

A scandalized look crossed Honi's face, but Kali only chuckled. "Copy that, Crest." She regarded her former Padawan for a beat before she began to explain. "It's a long story. The holo-digest version is that I've formed an attachment to one of my men. When the Council found out, they put me on probation."

Honi's eyes widened as she glanced between Weave and Traxis, and her thoughts were plain. Kali raised a hand to catch Honi's attention. "He's not here, Honi. Captain Stonewall was sent to Kamino, along with Milo, another member of my team."

"They sent your captain to Kamino because you," she grimaced, "cared for him?"

"Not quite." Kali took a deep breath; this part she had not revealed to Sita, but it was difficult to keep secrets around Honi. "Do you remember when I comm'd you about someone gaining Force-sensitivity after they'd matured?"

Honi nodded briskly, but Kali was silent, allowing the other woman to draw her own conclusions. It didn't take long. A few seconds later, Honi's mouth fell open in shock, and she leaned forward, eyes fixed on Kali's face. "It's not possible."

"Apparently it is."

"No, Kalinda. It's not. It _can't _be. A _clone_?"

"Yes, a kriffing _clone,_" Traxis broke in darkly.

Honi shook her head and gave Kali a helpless look. "You were serious. I thought you'd had a peculiar dream or something..."

"Well, I've had my share of _those_, but this was no dream, I assure you."

"But how?" Honi said. "The Force is not a...virus that can be transmitted."

Weave coughed into his hand. "That's what I said, actually. And there've been no known cases of Force-sensitivity spreading between sentients other than being passed via genetics."

Kali glanced at him. "When in the Nine Hells did you find the time to do research on _that_ subject?"

He shrugged. "I made the time. This is important; we need all the intel we can get."

Honi's eyes flickered to him, but mostly remained fixed on her former master. "The Council knows? They sent this...Stonewall to Kamino?"

"Only Obi-Wan knew about Stone's Force-abilities," Kali replied. "Nothing was said to me about it when the Council put me on probation, but Stone was arrested at the same time. It seems a bit too much of a coincidence, and I'm not sure what to think."

The familiar weight curled in her stomach, but Kali managed to keep her words steady. "All I know is that he's gone and we're going to get him back."

Honi was silent a moment, then she shook her head. "I suppose it's too late to lecture you on the dangers of attachment."

"Much too late. And it's been done before, by much wiser Jedi than either of us." Kali offered a wry smile. "For all the good it did."

"All joking aside, you must take care, Kalinda." Honi's voice softened, but was still solemn. "The Jedi are looking for you and your men, as is the GAR. There's even a story on the HoloNet."

Kali rolled her eyes. "I'd hardly call that little blurb a _story_."

Honi's chin dropped and her eyes lidded, and, to Kali's astonishment, she bit her lip; all at once she was no longer the competent, abrasive Healer, but the teenaged girl who'd watched her first Master die on an ill-fated mission. When Kalinda had met Honi Tallis, she'd resolved to give Honi the kind of compassion she had been denied by the Jedi Order.

After a long moment, Honi met Kali's eyes again. "Have you truly defected?"

Kalinda did not answer at first. In truth, she had not taken the time to really consider her own future; she'd been so focused on rescuing Stonewall and Milo, and making provisions for her men, that she'd not decided where her own path should head. Despite this, there was at least _one_ certainty she held. She would ensure that her and Stone's child had the best life it could, whether it be with the Altisians or on Aruna. But the little spark within her seemed so tiny; it was almost impossible to believe that it would one day grow to be a _person_. And in the meantime, there were so many roads to be traveled, it was difficult to know where to begin, or even how.

The future was full of shadows, and Kali could see no clear way through.

"I am a Jedi, Honi. I have always been a Jedi. I never wanted to be anything else, even when it was clear that I wasn't really a good one. But it seems I can't be a Jedi the way I was taught." She sighed heavily, suddenly feeling far too old for all of these kriffing revelations. "I'm starting to think I must find my own way."

Two warm hands rested on each shoulder. Startled, she glanced up to see Weave and Traxis on either side of her, both regarding her with those reassuring, steadfast expressions only the clones were capable of. Neither spoke, but they didn't have to. _You're not alone. We're with you._

Her mouth opened but no sound came out, and it was almost more than she could bear. She thought of Stonewall, and knew he would burst with pride and affection for his _vode _and how they had rallied around her when he could not be at her side.

How strange it was to be full of equal parts sorrow and joy.

If Honi picked up on any of this, she made no comment, only flicked her eyes between the three, though they came to rest on Kali as the 'fresher door opened. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

Kali was distracted by the clones and her own thoughts, so she only nodded absently. Honi sipped her tea, surveying Kali over the rim of the cup. "You should be taking prenatal supplements. And this tea is garbage; you'd be better off drinking h'kak bean tea – it's far better for a developing fetus."

The hands resting on Kali's shoulders tensed.

_Oh, kriffing hell!_

"What's that, now?" Traxis asked.

Weave exhaled deeply, muttering to himself. "I _knew_ it."

"You knew what?" Crest asked, stepping into the room.

Honi set down her mug and leveled a sharp glare at her former master, all Healer once more. "How far along are you?"

Kali knew without looking that three pairs of identical eyes had fallen upon her, and she could not hide her wince. "About a month."

"You look like you've lost weight. Have you been getting ill?"

Kali swallowed and nodded, but it was Weave who replied. "I know she's been sick about half a dozen times over the last couple of weeks. Plus, her appetite's changed."

"Kriff, what _else_ do you know?" Kali said, glaring up at the medic. "Do you keep a log of my 'fresher habits?"

But Weave returned her glare with one of his own. "I pay attention." He frowned. "I hoped I was wrong."

Honi sighed. "Did your contraceptive fail? I _told _you to switch to the hypo, but you've always been insistent about that silly implant. It's a relic. I'm surprised there aren't _more _pregnant Jedi running around."

Kali's face grew hot and she crossed her arms over her torso. "This isn't really anyone's business..."

The clones made sounds of protest, but they didn't get a chance to say anything as Honi's eyes flashed with righteous indignation. "It is now."

* * *

A/N: Holy kriff, y'all. Writing Honi is SO much fun! XD _Technically_, Honi is not an OC; she was introduced in one of the _Jedi Apprentice _books by Jude Watson. (A fun YA series that features Obi as a Padawan.) But she only had a first name, species and hair color. The rest, I added...except, apparently she had brown eyes in the books, while in my fanon she has blue. Whoopsies.

Thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 11

Lyrics: "Never Be Ready," by Mat Kearney, on _City Of Black & White_.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

_Come on lay down these arms, all our best defenses._

_We're taking our chances here on the run._

_Fear is an anchor, time is a stranger,_

_Love isn't borrowed, we aren't promised tomorrow._

In the moments after Kalinda's revelation, Weave watched the copper-haired Jedi with equal parts respect, fascination, and a trace of apprehension.

"You got pregnant on _purpose_?" Tallis asked, jaw dropping. "You...asked a _clone _to impregnate you?"

"He has a _name_, you know," Crest broke in. Trax glowered as well. Weave had to hand it to his brothers; though they'd all been thrown for one hell of a loop, they didn't miss a beat when it came to protecting their captain - or their general, for that matter. As for himself, he was still reeling from the news. Sure, he'd had an idea it was true, but the reality was overwhelming. A child. Would he ever be able to wrap his mind around the concept?

Tallis ignored them all and leveled a furious glare on her former master, who actually shrank back in her chair a bit. "Of all the stupid, irresponsible, _asinine_ things you could have done...this is the _worst_. Have you _any_ idea what you're going to do with a child?"

"Love the kriff out of it," Kalinda answered stiffly.

The copper-haired Jedi rolled her eyes so hard, Weave thought they'd fall out of her head. "_Love_ won't feed a child, Kalinda. _Love_ won't provide shelter or clothing, or inoculations against any of the _thousands _of pathogens that can kill an infant. Were you planning on showing up at the Temple in nine months? 'Oh, look, I found a baby. Is it Force-sensitive? Let's make it a Jedi!'"

At this, Kalinda sat up and gave a warning look to the other woman. "It's happened before. And even if it hadn't, I don't regret making the choice. I know it's stupid, and believe me, Stonewall argued against it at first, but what's done is done."

"Yes, it most certainly is," Tallis replied grimly. "I suppose this is why you're so bound and determined to retrieve your clone?"

Traxis slammed his fist on the table, causing the mugs of tea to jump, but Kalinda placed a hand on his arm. He made a wordless noise of anger, but drew back, crossing his arms and glaring at Tallis.

Kalinda had seemed to regain a measure of her calm. "Our child is _one_ of the reasons I'm going to rescue Stonewall and Milo."

Tallis sighed and shook her head, glancing away as she seemed to gather her thoughts. At last she looked back at her former master. "What do you need me to do?"

Weave was ninety-nine percent certain this was the last thing Kalinda had expected her former Padawan to say, as evidenced by the dark-haired woman's astonished look. "I beg your pardon?"

Tallis crossed her arms over her chest in a mirror of Trax's position. "What. Do. You. Need. Me. To–"

"That's what I thought you said," Kalinda broke in, lifting her hand. "I just didn't quite believe it."

General Tallis began ticking points off of her fingers. "You're pregnant. You're – at the very least – on probation with the Jedi Order. You're on the run from the GAR with three clone troopers, who are now considered stolen property of the Republic, if not criminals in their own right. I doubt you have much money and I _know_ you have few possessions. Am I missing anything?"

"Yeah," Crest said, sighing. "Any other relevant intel we should know?"

Kalinda considered, then said in a small voice, "Stonewall and I got married on Coraux."

Traxis threw up his hands. "For fek's sake!"

"Wow," Crest added. "I was just kidding..."

"Of course you got married," Tallis replied, rubbing her face in exasperation. "No doubt your clone considered it the honorable thing to do."

"Something like that," Kalinda said. "It was very simple and quick, just an exchange of Mandalorian vows. I'm sorry we didn't tell you guys. We didn't want any fuss. We just wanted to be married." She looked away from everyone, her gaze falling on the window and the city outside.

The room grew painfully quiet. Weave was at something of a loss about the turn of events, and he wasn't the only one. He looked between his brothers; Trax was scowling and shaking his head, leaning on the table on his braced arms, while Crest pretended to find his gauntlet incredibly fascinating.

Tallis had crossed her arms before her chest again and was frowning at the other Jedi. But when she spoke, her voice was calmer than it'd been. "I will bring you those supplements, and whatever else you need. Just tell me."

Kalinda took a deep breath and looked back at her former apprentice. "There's quite a few things from our ship that would be welcome. All the guys' gear, and my instruments..." She frowned and shook her head. "It's too much to ask of you."

The notion of possibly getting back some of his cache of supplies piqued Weave's interest, and he considered all the potential difficulties involved in such a thing. "We could...go with General Tallis," he said slowly.

Four sets of eyes turned to him: two his own light-brown, one dark and one a bright, clear blue. It was this last set that he regarded, though he spoke to everyone. "When I wiped the tracking devices in our armor, I essentially reset the electronic signatures of our kits."

"Can you be identified?" Kalinda asked.

Weave shook his head. "Not unless they dissect us." The dark-haired woman winced at the word, so Weave quickly continued before he came down with a worse case of Foot-In-Mouth-Disorder. "Since we've never painted our gear, we'll look like standard grunts, and should be able to slip under the radar, so to speak. We each have codes embedded in our skin, but frankly, if it comes to that, the jig is probably up."

Kalinda nodded slowly, considering. "Is it worth the risk?" she asked after a beat, looking at each man in turn. "All your weapons and other supplies...could you get by without them?"

The clones exchanged glances, and Weave could read his brothers' thoughts as plainly as if they were his own. Crest, naturally, spoke for the group. "We _could _get by without our stuff, Kalinda, but life would be a lot fardling easier if we didn't have to."

"I _did _just restock the _Wayfarer's _medical supplies," Weave added.

Traxis heaved a great sigh. "Yeah, and I've got that rifle I just finished modding out. It'd be nice to charge into a string of aiwha-bait with that piece in tow."

"Plus, you have all those instruments," Crest added. "Your viol and Stonewall's gitar...that was your old Master's right?"

Kalinda looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "Yes. That gitar belonged to Jonas." Her eyes closed briefly, then she shook her head. "Honi, it's kind of you to offer, but I can't let you do this. If you're caught helping me any further, it could bring down a lot of _osik _on your head."

Tallis' brow furrowed over the Mando'a, but her words were calm. "You're not my Master any longer, Kalinda. I can do precisely as I wish, and I wish to help you."

The two women regarded each other for a moment, and Weave was certain that something was passing between them. Surreptitiously, he studied the Jedi Healer; it was difficult for him to imagine her as a Padawan, especially one who worked with Kalinda. There was a sharpness to her, but now he saw a softening of her gaze as she looked at the dark-haired Jedi, and he realized the depth of the affection that Tallis had for her former teacher.

At last, Tallis lifted her chin, her voice still Jedi-calm. "We've dallied long enough. Where is your ship?"

"The Jedi Temple hangar," Kalinda replied. Suddenly she sat up and whipped her head around the room. "Kriff! What time is it?"

Traxis checked his chrono. "Not even afternoon. We've got a few hours before we have to meet that _shabla _bounty hunter."

"That's not..." Kalinda sighed and looked at Tallis, her eyes wide and...was she about to _cry_? "You have to bring the airspeeder back! I promised Podge!"

"Who the kriff is Podge?" Crest asked.

She huffed and swiped at her eyes; Weave remembered hearing about how Human females often became excessively emotional during their pregnancies – something to do with the fluctuation of hormones – but he resolved at once to learn as much as he could, just to be prepared.

"Podger is a clone I had to," she grimaced, "do a mind-trick upon, so I could use a Temple speeder. But I promised him I'd return it within one rotation, which is this evening."

Tallis raised her hands in a gesture meant to placate. "Very well. I will see that the vehicle is returned." She glanced between the three clones. "Are they all going to accompany me?"

"Fek, no," Traxis broke in, shifting closer to Kalinda. "I'm not letting you meet that tailhead _chakaar _alone."

"Don't be rude," she said, narrowing her eyes at the use of the slur. "Tabora may very well be our best chance of reaching Kamino. Besides, don't you want to make sure they get the right weapons? I doubt they can carry your _entire_ collection back here."

Traxis waved dismissively. "I've got a master-list. I'll pick out my favorites and give Baldy the makes, models and pictures. Even _he_ can't eff that up."

"Hey!"

Traxis ignored Crest's indignation. "But I'm _not,_" he glowered at the Jedi, "leaving you alone. Especially not kriffing now."

They regarded each other a long, long moment, which was a bit odd. Something had changed between Traxis and Kalinda, and Weave wasn't sure how or why it had come about. Maybe they'd had a chance to reconcile last night.

At last the Jedi nodded once and looked back at her former apprentice. "I promise the other two aren't nearly as argumentative."

There was only affection in her words, enough to make Traxis roll his eyes, while a smile tugged at his mouth. Crest sighed.

Tallis glanced at Weave, who straightened his spine out of sheer, ingrained reflex. "I'll take your word for it. I've never worked closely with clones before."

Kalinda cast a smile between the medic and Crest. "Then this is your lucky day."

A few more arrangements were made. Comlink codes were exchanged, and Weave went through his and Crest's kits one last time to make sure no scanners would be able to read them; thanks to his tinkering, a scan of the kits would not come up blank, but rather with one of the innocuous error codes that scanners came across dozens of times each day. At the most, he imagined he and Crest would be told to get their kits checked, but that would likely be it.

Hopefully.

While the Jedi said their goodbyes, Traxis handed each clone a freshly-cleaned and loaded deece, his face a study in steeled nerves. "Take care of each other," he said to them in Mando'a. "_K'oyacyi_. Come back in one effing piece, you hear me?"

"Will do, _vod,_" Crest said, gripping Trax's arm.

Weave accepted the weapon; to further blend in, he was going to have to leave his medic-pack behind, so the added weight of the deece was a comfort. "You do the same."

"And keep an eye on our new sister-in-law," Crest added in a dry voice. "She's using the Force for two now, apparently."

Traxis' head dipped in a solemn nod, and his face was about as serious as Weave had ever seen. "They're both safe with me."

Of that, Weave had no doubt.

* * *

_Approximately one month ago..._

"Did it work?"

Kalinda pressed Stonewall's hand closer to her skin and looked up into his eyes. She knew her smile was as wide as the rings that arched across Coraux's sky, beyond their villa. Even then, it could not contain the joy and awe that filled her heart.

"Yes," she whispered.

He gave a helpless laugh and kissed her, hard enough to steal her breath. "Kali," he murmured when they parted. "I don't even know what to think."

As he spoke, he slid fully out of her to lie at her side. Though his voice was easy, she was struck by a stab of guilt, and she looked away as she pulled the sheet over her body. Stonewall, of course, sensed the change in her mood at once, and reached out to skim his fingertips over her cheek.

"I'm happy," he said quietly. "That's the one thing I do know."

Kali worried at her lower lip. "Are you sure?" At his frown, she tried to explain. "Did I push you into this? _I'm _ready to have a child, but you..."

He was young, so much younger than her. It was a truth she didn't dwell upon often, because biologically, he was about in his mid-twenties. But the reality was that Stonewall had only been alive for just over a decade. For all that he'd always struck her as what Jonas would've called an "old soul," Kali knew she had a good twenty-odd years on Stonewall.

He studied her a moment, forehead creasing, then his face relaxed. "I know I had my doubts at first, but not any more."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He raised an eyebrow. "It's a little late to change our minds, anyway."

Where she would have normally laughed at the joke, Kali's stomach tightened into a knot of misgiving. She was completely sober now, but tired and drained of emotion, and cold reality was setting in. _What have I done? _"I pushed you," she whispered, looking away from him, looking at her fingers curling over the sheet. "All my grand, romantic talk about choices, and I didn't really give you one, did I?"

Stonewall was quiet for a minute or so, considering her words. Even though she was anxious to hear his answer, she could not suppress a swell of love for the care he took in formulating his reply.

"If I had kept saying 'no,' would you have...forced me?" he asked at last. "Ordered me? Or somehow done it anyway, without my consent or knowledge?"

She stared at him, not sure if he was joking. "Kriffing hell, Stone. Of course not! That's horrible!"

A faint smile pulled at his mouth, but his nod was serious. "I know. I trust you. If I'd truly objected, you would have respected my wishes. So it seems like I _did_ have a choice."

She huffed as he pulled her to his chest and kissed the top of her head. He was solid and warm and smelled like the sea.

"Sometimes I don't understand how your mind works at all," she said, though her words were muffled by his skin.

"You understand enough," was his easy reply. "Especially enough to know that sometimes I need a push."

Alarmed, Kali twisted her head up to him. "A push?"

He skimmed a hand down her side before resting it at the small of her back. "This is what I want, Kali. Right here. You and me, for as long as possible. Sometimes I think I've wanted it since the moment we met. But before, on the beach, I was," he frowned and his gaze grew distant, "afraid."

"Being a parent is a huge commitment," she agreed. "I'm a little terrified myself."

Stonewall shook his head. "That too. But that's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what do you mean?"

He took a deep breath and leaned back, urging her into her customary place, tucked into the crook of his shoulder. Their room was dark, lit only by Coraux's rings outside the open window, and cooled by the ubiquitous sea breeze. When he spoke again, his tone was thoughtful, as if he was still puzzling through his words even as he gave them voice.

"You were right when you said I'm going to die much sooner than you. Yes, you are older than me, but I can't fight genetics. I don't like to think about it. It's kriffing painful, but on the beach, when you said you didn't want to be alone..." He sighed heavily and hugged her closer, adding a fierce kiss against her temple. "I don't want you to be alone, either. Maybe it is silly, but I would like to leave something of myself with you, after I'm gone.

"I wish it were different. _Kali'ka_, I can't begin to tell you how much. I don't want to leave you with a burden, but we have no idea what the future will hold. All I know is that I won't be around for most of it." His arm around her waist tightened. "And before, I thought if I don't let myself live with you, as much as we can _while _we can, I'll regret it for the rest of my days."

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she made no effort to fight them. A gentle brush of his Force-energy coiled around hers, allowing them a moment of silent, shared comfort before he added, "I don't want to have any regrets when it comes to us."

She didn't know what to say. What could she say when faced with a man who loved her so fearlessly? All she managed was to whisper his name, his full name, not the nickname she'd given.

Stonewall sighed; the movement of his chest lifted her body and she felt his warm exhale on her hair. _I love you. _

The words were not spoken aloud, or even sent through the link of their Force-bond. The words were not words at all, but feelings, thoughts and memories that crystallized around them, sparkling in her mind's eye like thousands of stars, like sunlight upon ocean waves.

_I love you, too._

They were silent for a long, long time. Sleep was impossible, but she tried to drift off to the sound of the distant waves and the steady drum of his heartbeat.

After a while, Stonewall said her name again, causing her to look up. There was uncertainty on his face now, but she wasn't alarmed. "What is it, Stone?"

"We're going to have a child."

Kali smiled. "Oh, is _that_ what we just did?"

His chuckle sent a thrill across her skin, but his uncertainty did not dissipate. Instead, his expression turned serious once more. "I don't know how these things are done. I've only seen them in holos."

"What are you talking about? What 'things?'"

Stonewall skimmed her bottom lip with his thumb. "From what I understand, people who agree to have a child generally get married."

Kali's mouth fell open and her mind went blank. It took her a long couple of seconds to form anything close to a coherent thought, and even then, it wasn't much. "Married? You think we should get _married_?"

"Yes, and I'm trying not to be offended by the tone of your voice."

"I'm not..." Kali sat up and faced him, running her hands through her tangled hair and trying to pull herself together. _How many of the Order's rules can I break in one evening? Only a few, but they're karking big ones. _"I don't know, Stone," she said at last, looking at him helplessly. "I mean...I just never thought about it."

"Really?"

She sighed. "Maybe I have thought about it a little. But not seriously. Not like I thought it would ever happen."

"I know exactly how you feel," he said, sitting up as well so that they faced one another in the bed. "Before tonight, I never thought I'd be a father. But here I am. And you know," a slow, broad smile crossed his face, "I like it. As scary as it is, I like it. I think I'd like to be your husband, too."

Kali studied him, marveling at the depth of her Jedi training. The longing to create new life was biological, apparently something even the Order could not fully shake her of. But the idea of getting married, of binding herself to another person, forever, was just so...strange. Not, she realized, abhorrent. Training did not run _that_ deep, and she'd seen far too many happy marriages to never have considered that she could be a part of one.

And if there was anyone in the galaxy she would want to bind herself to, it was this man who looked at her like she was about to sprout wings and fly away. Uncertainty poured off of him, and she realized that he probably thought he'd effed up a perfectly beautiful moment.

She took a deep breath, as much to gather her calm as to collect her thoughts, and slanted him a knowing look. "Ask me."

His honey-brown eyes alighted with joy and he sat up, took her hands in his. She tried not to think about how they were both completely naked, and decided when – and if – she ever told the story, she'd leave that part out.

"Kalinda Halcyon," he said in that solemn voice of his. "Will you marry me?"

She grinned. "Of-kriffing-course, Stonewall."

His smile was just as wide, but it was the overwhelming joy that resonated through his Force-presence that truly expressed his feeling. It was a sentiment she shared. For a moment they just stared at one another, grinning like fools, then she couldn't stand it any longer and threw her arms around his neck, savoring his closeness and the heat of his skin.

"So...should we set a date?" he asked as he embraced her.

Kali hugged him close and inhaled his scent. "I think that's how this works, but I wish there was a way we could just," she nuzzled his chest, "_be_ married. We've made our choice; I don't want to wait any longer."

Strong hands coiled in her hair and turned her face up to his. "I don't want to wait, either. I don't have much time to spare, anyway."

"Fek waiting," she agreed with a nod. "Maybe we can find someone here to officiate..."

Stonewall laughed aloud. "It may not come to that. Do you know anything about Mandalorian marriage vows?"

"Haven't a vaping clue."

She didn't know it was possible, but his grin widened. "Ah. Well, then. Let me educate you."

* * *

_Approximately three weeks later..._

Kalinda smiled at Bail Organa, and hoped he wouldn't realize that she was using him as a living shield. "Well, it was all in a day's work."

The Alderaani senator gave one of his trademark, booming laughs. "Five clone soldiers and one Jedi Knight...and you not only stopped a Separatist invasion, but rescued Tibor Taro's son. That must have been _quite _an eventful day."

"They usually are," Kali replied, eyes darting over the assembled guests, searching for the tell-tale blue _lekku_ of her unwanted suitor.

A cool wind blew, but it was high summer on this part of Alderaan, and the evening was mild. Even so, tall heat-lamps had been set at the perimeter of the party area in order to keep the space a comfortable temperature for Alderaan's guests. Dinner had ended about an hour ago; the fundraiser had gone remarkably well, or so Kali had heard the High Chancellor remark to Mace as everyone had reconvened to the dance-floor for mingling and...well.

Music filtered through the cool air and the assembled guests. The string quartet that had been hired for the evening was pretty good, but Kali hardly paid attention to the lilting melodies. She was too busy trying to avoid the enthusiastic presence of a certain senator, who'd taken quite a shine to her.

Organa sipped from his crystal flute and shifted slightly to his left in an effort to see through the bustling dance-floor – possibly, he was looking for his wife. Kali didn't remember her name...Brenna, Beru...something. It didn't matter at the moment. Subtly, she shifted along with Organa, thankful she was much shorter than the senator.

Then his eyes lit up and he looked down at Kali. "There's Breha. I promised her a turn on the dance-floor. If you'll excuse me...?"

Kali bowed, though inwardly she was swearing. The moment Organa moved off, she was dangerously exposed, and, worse off, in a clear line of sight to Senator Orn Free Ta.

She'd been seated beside him at dinner, which at first had gone about as well as it could have. She would have preferred to sit next to almost anyone else, even Mace, but the Jedi in attendance at this soiree had been sprinkled throughout the guests. Fek, she would have _loved _to be at the table that housed the clones, but of course that was out of the question.

Apparently the Jedi robes and lightsaber were not deterrents enough to stop Orn Free Ta from excessive flirting. As the wine had flowed, so had the senator's advances, until Kali was hard-pressed to keep a polite look on her face, reminding herself that she would get in quite a lot of trouble if she stabbed the Twi'lek with her fork after he'd tweaked the side of her rump and told her she'd make a _lovely_ dancer.

Now that she was exposed, the corpulent Twi'lek spotted her at once, a huge grin splitting his huge face, and began to wave her over. The scantily-clad Lethan Twi'lek female at his side shot Kali a sympathetic look, but Kali managed to keep her face schooled to Jedi-calm. _Kriffing son of a shabla nerf-herder!_

She glanced around the room, searching for Stonewall. The Jedi had been asked to bring their senior clone officers, and she'd told him flat-out that if she had to suffer through this function, he did as well. He'd grumbled a bit, until he saw who else was coming. At least _he _got to spend the evening chatting with Rex and Cody. She doubted very much that his experience tonight was as irritating as hers. Lucky _di'kut_.

But he was nowhere in sight, and short of Force-leaping over the assembled guests, she could not get a good enough vantage point to look for him. Reaching out with the Force to find him would be...unwise, given the presence of several Jedi Masters, including Mace, Plo Koon, and Kit Fisto, all of whom would likely wonder why she was so interested in finding her clone captain.

Neither Kali nor Stonewall had told the guys about their marriage, let alone the pregnancy; for now, those were secrets they were still wrapping their minds around. Regardless of what had passed between them, here and now, they had to maintain a semblance of professionalism.

_Fan-kriffing-tastic._

Senator Ta waved at her again, a clear gesture for her to _come over_, but Kali pretended not to understand even as she silently begged the Force to present her with an alternative to inane chitchat and very likely another unwelcome bout of fondling. In her distracted state, she stepped backward and collided with a solid, armored form. Kali turned and looked up into a mismatched set of eyes: one the normal, golden-brown of a clone, the other a silver-white cybernetic.

Thankfully, it only took her a nanosecond to remember his name, and in her relief to see him, her reply was a bit more enthusiastic than it should have been. "Commander Wolffe!"

If he was startled by her exuberance, he made no indication of it. Instead, the officer inclined his head politely. "General Halcyon."

"Oh, Force, I ran into you," she began to babble. "Kriff, I'm sorry about that, Commander. It's so crowded in here, after all. Are you alright?"

"Er...no permanent damage was done, General," he said, brow furrowing. "Besides, I've been through worse."

"Of that, I have no doubt." Kali glanced at Senator Ta again. _Fek_! Apparently he'd grown tired of trying to get her attention from a distance, and was making his way through the crowd, cutting through the guests like a Hutt's barge.

She had to do something. Wolffe wore an expression like he was about to excuse himself, but she couldn't let this chance go. Kali touched his armored arm – like all the clones here, he wore his entire kit, albeit minus his weapons and with his helmet clipped to his belt – and got his attention.

"Actually, I'm happy I ran into you," she said quickly. "Well, not _literally _ran into you. Encountered." She smiled at him, but he was silent, so Kali pushed on. "I'm trying to find my captain, but it's impossible for me to see a thing in this crowd. At least, not without using the Force in rather impolite ways, I'm afraid. Have you seen him?"

"Captain...Stonewall, correct?"

"That's the one." She couldn't help herself. "You know: tall, dark hair, dressed head to _shebs _in shiny, white armor."

Wolffe regarded her a moment as if sifting through her words, then, to her amusement, gave a solemn nod toward a corner of the room. "I believe he and a few others are discussing matters of strategic import."

She'd been around the guys enough to know that was clone-speak for gossiping. Kali looked where he'd indicated, but of course she couldn't see, and Senator Ta was lumbering closer by the moment, so she gave Wolffe her most charming smile. "I know it's unorthodox, but would you mind...escorting me?"

Again, the commander did not appear to be fazed by her odd request. In fact, she noticed that his eyes flickered toward Senator Ta before he offered her his armored elbow. "My pleasure, General."

Wolffe slipped through the crowd with ease, and Kali noticed he made an effort to avoid the Twi'lek senator, for which she was grateful. Within moments, they reached the corner of the room where the clone officers had congregated. Cody was there, standing between Stone, Rex, and a few others that Kali didn't recognize. They appeared to be deep in conversation; when she caught a flare of sorrow from Cody as well as threads of reassurance from the others, she realized they'd been discussing Obi-Wan.

Her chest ached at the thought of her friend, but she was able to push past the feeling. The moment she and Wolffe came into view, the clones straightened and offered her a series of sharp salutes, even Stonewall. She knew better than to dissuade them, so she only gave a bow and looked up at Wolffe.

"Thanks, Commander. I owe you one."

He inclined his head. "I'll make a note of it, sir."

Chuckling, Kali looked at the others, all of whom were watching her with varying degrees of curiosity. From what she'd heard, Anakin and his Padawan were hunting down Ben's killer, so she wasn't entirely certain why Rex and Cody were here. They were both highly-decorated, widely-recognized officers; perhaps they, like she and Stone, had been called at the last minute to attend this function, to put on a pretty face for potential financial benefactors.

Regardless, they had all rallied around Cody, clearly offering consolation to their brother, and she'd interrupted.

"I'm sorry to butt in," she said, and truly meant it, "but I need to borrow Stonewall for a moment."

"Is everything alright, General Halcyon?" Stonewall asked. There was curiosity in his voice, along with a faint trace of alarm. In addition to maintaining a professional distance from one another, she'd been quite insistent that he not use the Force while in the presence of other Jedi, so he likely had no idea what had brought her over.

She was being silly. She was a grown woman, a kriffing Jedi Knight, and she could handle one overzealous senator. But being near Stone again was intoxicating, and she wanted to be in his arms, even here, even now. The moon was high, the music was lovely, and although it was selfish and reckless, the urge to be close to her husband was too strong to ignore. Besides, there were not a wealth of available dance-partners here, save Senator Ta, and he couldn't dance with her if she was dancing with someone else_._

Even so, she still felt guilty for interrupting. "Nothing's wrong, Stonewall. I just," she felt her face get hot and hoped she wasn't visibly blushing, "well, to be honest, I needed a diversion."

"I'm flattered you thought of me," he replied easily. "How can I help?"

He was teasing, of course, but there wasn't anything inappropriate in his words. By now, many of the clone officers were on such congenial terms with their Jedi generals, so none of the others batted an eyelash at his tone.

In fact, Wolffe, who still stood at her side, gave a polite cough into his gloved hand. "Senator Ta is approaching, General."

Stonewall's mouth twitched; he had a devious streak to him. "Senator Ta? Yes, he seemed quite taken with you at dinner. Sir."

_Sir. Force help him. _"And it's a trend that's continued," she said, glancing around. "I just need to keep busy until he gets tired of the chase."

"That will likely take a while," Cody said thoughtfully.

"A _long_ while," Wolffe added in a dry voice.

Rex made a noise of amusement. "General Skywalker has told me some stories..." As the others looked at him, he cleared his throat and shook his head. "Er...never mind. Best save those for another time."

Stonewall regarded her a moment. "What sort of diversion were you thinking of, General?"

"Do you know how to waltz?" she asked as innocuously as she could. They'd danced before, many times, but nothing quite as...proper as the Alderaani waltz. This was likely a very foolish idea, but the space was crowded and she thought they could get away with it, this one time.

"I think I can figure it out," he replied slowly. "But I don't want to get in the way of any Jedi business. Didn't General Windu say that this event was supposed to foster unity between the Senate and the Order?"

Kali could not hide her glare at him, especially when it was clear that Stonewall was fighting back a grin. Rex chuckled as well, and Cody shot an amused look at Wolffe, who gave a slight tilt of his head that made Kali think he was rolling his eyes.

But in truth she hardly noticed any of them. She only had eyes for one man. "I think enough unity was fostered at dinner. Now, I'm just looking to keep the peace and avoid having my _shebs _grabbed – again."

Stonewall's eyes narrowed and there was a dark tinge to his next words. "He did...what?"

"You heard me," she said, lifting a brow, and his mouth tightened into a thin line.

This exchange seemed to startle the others out of their levity. The Force hummed with their disapproval, even more so when Cody and Rex shot glances toward the Twi'lek senator, who was _still _trying to get through the crowd toward Kali. Kriff, the fellow was relentless.

Surprisingly, it was Wolffe who spoke. "It seems duty calls, Captain."

"It does at that, sir." The speech was clipped, but his eyes on her were wholly warm.

After bidding farewell to his fellow officers, Stonewall stepped over to Kali and offered her his hand. When she reached for his, when his fingers closed around hers firmly, the Force practically sang through her mind. It broke free of the tight barrier she'd tried to erect tonight and resonated between them, briefly and brightly, before they each managed to snuff the energy. There were too many other Jedi here for them to get carried away.

But kriff...he was her husband. The father of her child. She just wanted to be in his arms. Was that so wrong? Was that so dangerous?

As they passed Senator Ta, the Twi'lek said her name. "I was very much hoping to have a dance – or several – with you, Knight Halcyon."

"And you will," she assured the senator. "As soon as my captain and I finish our...er..."

Stonewall gave the senator a perfectly believable salute. "Security briefing, sir."

The Twi'lek scoffed. "In the middle of a party?"

"Yes, sir. We're trying to keep a low profile."

Kali added a regretful smile. "No rest for the weary, you know."

She didn't hear Ta's reply, as she and Stonewall were soon within the mass of other dancers, moving gracefully across the floor – beneath the open sky and the silver-coin moon. One of his hands rested high on her waist, the other held hers as she reached for his shoulder. The song had ended as they'd passed Senator Ta, but by now another waltz was starting up again.

"I have no idea how to waltz," he told her as the music swelled. "I apologize in advance if I step on your toes."

When Kali met her husband's eyes, she thought her crinking heart would burst with happiness right there. Yes, she would very likely get in all sorts of trouble for even this meager display of impropriety, but he was worth every bit of trouble, and then some. "Just relax; you'll get it. But for kriff's sake, don't let me go."

He smiled, and his hand at her waist pulled her imperceptibly closer. "Easy enough."

* * *

So it was true.

High Chancellor Palpatine sipped his sparkling Crème D'Infame and watched Knight Halcyon and her clone pet. It was plain that Halcyon, a woman well past her prime, was infatuated with the young clone, who in turn was either too grateful for the physical gratification or too well-trained to refuse his superior's advances. Though they danced politely, like any other couple on the floor, it was obvious from their simpering gazes that they believed they shared some sort of connection. A probe with the Force reinforced the notion, though of course he was able to do so directly under the collective noses of all the Jedi at the event.

Even the one who stood beside him.

Palpatine did not need to look at Mace Windu to know the Jedi Master was also watching the asinine display, and he smiled to himself. Jedi like Knight Halcyon, in their insipid desire to find _happiness, _were dissolving their precious Order from the inside out. And Jedi like Mace Windu were so blinded by their own rules, they focused on the trees when they missed the entire forest – and the fire that would soon consume it.

Another probe with the Force confirmed the clone captain's Force-sensitivity. Initially, Palpatine had been startled to hear of such a thing, but as the saying went, truth was stranger than fiction. Palpatine's informant had been told in no uncertain terms, that if the information was wrong and the clone was not Force-sensitive, the skirmish on Balasi would be _nothing _compared to what misery could be wrought on the Iktotchi's miserable little family. From there, sniffing out the truth had been remarkably simple, starting with ensuring that Halcyon was ordered to attend this function.

How a _clone _had come upon the Force was a mystery, and the Sith's hands tightened over the curve of his glass. If there was to be a mystery, it should _only_ be of his making.

In any case, _how _it had happened was only a concern if it was something that could be repeated. So much was riding on the clone army, he could not afford a dangling thread like this, lest the entire plan unravel. If one clone could become Force-sensitive, others might.

That was something Palpatine could not, would not, allow.

But if the clone was an anomaly, it could be a valuable asset. Large-scale cloning of Force-sensitives had been deemed imprudent for a variety of reasons, but a single, completely obedient operative could prove to be most useful in more ways than one. Additionally, although cloning technology was presently unable to successfully replicate a Force-sensitive individual, Palpatine had aspirations for future projects.

There were too many unknowns right now, but it would not be that way for long.

Palpatine sipped his drink and kept his features passably bland. "Master Windu," he said, indicating Halcyon and her clone pet. "Who is that dark-haired Jedi, dancing with a clone?"

Mace Windu's eyes tightened. The Force flickered around him like a faint lightning storm, though he kept his emotions lashed tight. _Fool_.

"That is Kalinda Halcyon," Windu said in a calm voice that could hide nothing from the Sith.

"Kalinda Halcyon..." Palpatine pretended to consider the name, though he'd done the necessary research on the shuttle here. "Ah," he smiled genially at Windu, "she was once your Padawan."

"Yes, Chancellor."

"She seems to have done well for herself. I heard she was instrumental in handling that crisis on Balasi."

Windu nodded once, but made no reply.

Palpatine indicated the dancers again, and kept his voice carefully schooled to sound perplexed. "I fear I am rather out of touch with these matters, so I'm inclined to ask...is it common for Jedi generals to waltz with their clone officers?"

Windu's face darkened visibly, no small feat for his already stern features. Palpatine bit back a smile of amusement at the Jedi's discomfiture. "Knight Halcyon is known for her...unorthodox behavior," Windu said at last.

It was not really an answer, but Palpatine did not care one way or the other. Nothing Windu said would make any difference, now or later. "I see," he said, swirling the pale gold wine in his glass. "Well, to each their own, I suppose. She's a credit to your training, I'm sure."

"Thank you, Chancellor." Mace Windu's voice was neutral, but his dark eyes remained fixed on Halcyon.

Palpatine sipped his drink again, relishing the sweet trickle down his throat.

Yes, this was a most entertaining affair.

* * *

A/N: Hopefully some more pieces are falling into place. :) Endless thanks to **impoeia** for her amazing beta-work, especially her feedback on Palpatine's section! This was the first time I've written him.

Next time, we'll check in with the boys on Kamino. I'm sure they're having a _fabulous_ time. /s

Oh! One last thing that impoeia pointed out. Obi's been "dead" for about a month, in the story, though I think on the show he was only "dead" for a few days. That whole arc confused me. Anyway, remember this fic is AU. ;)

Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 12

Lyrics: "Radioactive," by Imagine Dragons, from_ Night Visions. _

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

_I'm waking up._

_I feel it in my bones,_

_Enough to make my systems blow._

_Welcome to the new age._

_Present day..._

While the rest of his aides bustled about, Creon studied the deceased unit on the table before him. Where the unit's feet had once turned inward in a mockery of typical Kaminoan perfection, now the bones were straight and smooth, exactly like those of the other Fett clones.

The nanogene droids had worked.

Well, to a degree. Creon glanced over his datapad, noting the bio-readings in the final moments of the clone's life. Though the thousands of microscopic droids had repaired the unit's malformed bones, nerves and tissue, the strain had proven to be too great for the clone. Its heart had given way after only three hours of surgery.

Creon exhaled deeply and reminded himself that there were more subjects. Besides, the loss of one clone was a small matter when placed against the success of this most recent trial.

"Scientist Dai," one of his aides said, drawing his gaze. "You have a transmission from the Core."

"I will take it in my office." He stepped past the dead clone and made his way to his office, a small room adjacent to the lab. Once inside, he locked the door and activated the holographic transceiver on his desk. A familiar, robed and hooded figure bloomed before him.

"Your report, Scientist Dai?" Lord Tyranus' voice was clipped.

Creon lifted his head. "Preliminary blood samples from the army have been analyzed, and no trace of an increased midichlorian count has been noted. I think it is safe to say that unit CC-3077 is indeed an isolated anomaly."

If he hadn't known any better, Creon would have sworn the Jedi's shoulders sank a fraction of an inch. "That is excellent news. What of the clone captain?"

"It showed impressive Force-abilities during the physical training exercises that you provided," Creon replied smoothly. "I am compiling the results. As soon as the mental exercises have been completed, I will send the report to you."

"Very good."

Creon considered his next words. "Beyond the Force-sensitivity, there is one slightly unexpected aspect to the unit. It has proven to be quite resistant to many of the tests, and has openly defied orders on more than one occasion."

Faint annoyance swelled against the barrier of his calm. Such defiance was a byproduct of an inept initial handling of the clones' genetic structures; had he been in charge, the nanogene droids would have prevented any such nonsense. It was a simple matter of manipulation. So infinitely small, but the nanogene droids' power was endless. There was nothing they could not do.

"Resistance?" Lord Tyranus voice slunk from the shadow of his hood. "You insisted that you would be able to handle any such thing."

"Of course the unit can be reconditioned," Creon replied, dipping his head once. "If it continues to disobey orders, there is likely no other option. However, reconditioning is meant to create a," he searched his memory for an appropriate Human analogy, "a blank sheet of flimsi, so to speak, one on which anything can be written. I am simply not certain if the unit will retain use of the Force after the treatment."

He paused. "My nanogene droids could be programmed to perform the reconditioning. They are advanced enough to manage the most subtle of procedures."

"You are certain it will work?"

Again, Creon took his time to answer, though it was not because he had to think over the matter. The microscopic droids were capable of anything, of course, but it was prudent to show humility in all dealings with Humans – especially Jedi Masters. "It should," he said at last. "Though there is an inherent risk in any untried procedure."

The Jedi seemed to consider Creon for a moment before nodding slowly. "That is a risk we will have to take. It's just a clone, after all."

* * *

After lunch, Milo was startled to see that the clones of The Dregs were herded outside once more. Thankfully, Stonewall had not been taken away this time, so he was a little more at ease as he stood with his former captain on the ferrocrete deck, ignoring the intermittent patter of rain. Though Stonewall must be tired, he thought his _vod _wanted something of a semblance of normalcy, which probably accounted for the calisthenics.

"Let's start with some laps to warm up," Stonewall said as he pointed to the perimeter. "Then some reps, and maybe a little sparring – if it doesn't make the guards too nervous."

Milo bounced on the balls of his feet while energy buzzed through his blood. It felt like it'd been _forever _since he got to truly stretch his legs, and despite being tossed around with the Force this morning, he was ready for a little action. He glanced at Levy, who stood beside him, eagerly listening to the exchange.

"You up for some laps, Lev?"

The cadet snapped into a crisp salute, though he was grinning broadly. Milo chuckled and glanced at Stonewall, who smiled back. "I'd say that's a 'yes,'" Stonewall said, and began to jog.

It was nice at first. After a few minutes, the rain almost completely let up, and though the sun had not broken free of the cloud cover, the sky was bright. Milo settled into the familiar jog easily, keeping perfect rhythm with Stonewall, though they were each careful to stick to a pace they were sure Levy could handle. The cadet trotted behind them, eyes ahead, face determined, and steps in line with the older clones.

Zero and the rest of The Dregs clones stood by the building, watching the trio with no small amount of bewilderment. Each time Milo circled close enough, he heard the others muttering and watched them cast confused looks toward the three jogging clones. After half a dozen laps, Milo paused beside Zero and the rest, Stonewall and Levy following his lead a beat later.

"Anyone who wants to join us is welcome to," Milo said, glancing at the "defective" clones as he daubed off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. He wasn't winded, but a few drops of sweat had begun to bead upon his skin.

Zero frowned, and Milo remembered his harsh comments at lunch. How he could view his fellow clones so coldly was a mystery, but Milo couldn't feel anything but pity for the one-armed clone. Zero had obviously never known what it was like to have brothers.

"Why would we want to join you?" Rime asked, clearly at a loss even as he tried to shove Cobble aside.

Another swell of pity moved through Milo as he considered Rime's milky eyes and the way that Cobble clung to the blind clone, who seemed to want nothing to do with him. No brothers, no hope, and it had been that way for a long time. What a miserable existence.

The older clones might be beyond help, but he wanted Levy to have a sort-of-normal life. As Milo considered his answer, he mussed Lev's short hair, grinning at the way the younger clone ducked out of his reach.

"Gotta keep in shape," he said at last.

Several of the clones shook their heads, and Zero made a noise of irritation. "There's _no_ point! When will you get that through your thick skull?"

Stonewall opened his mouth like he was going to answer, but Milo beat him to it. "It's a damn sight better than sitting around, waiting to die."

He regretted the harsh words, but it seemed like _nothing_ he said had any effect on these men, and he didn't know how else to get through to them. Everything that came out of Zero's mouth was horribly blunt and sad; maybe that was the only language anyone in The Dregs understood. In any case, Milo wasn't sure how long he could listen to it without punching the other man in the hopes of snapping him out of his funk, though punching a guy with one arm was probably a pretty _shabuir_ move.

But Zero sure wasn't going to make it easy. His gaze on Milo was equal parts pity and anger. "We're not like you, Milo. We're broken. We've never been anything else."

With that, the one-armed clone turned his back on Milo, Stonewall and Levy, who'd come back to Milo's side. The others gradually turned away as well, and Milo sighed heavily as he exchanged glances with his former captain. "Well, that backfired."

"At least you tried." Stonewall placed a hand on Milo's shoulder. "Let's get back to those laps. After all," he slanted a fond look at the cadet, "we've got to make sure Lev can keep up with us."

The cadet stuck out his tongue at Stonewall, who chuckled. Seeing Levy in good spirits renewed some of Milo's own, and he laughed as well when he gave Levy a playful cuff, and the younger clone darted off. It was a clear invitation for a chase, so Milo and Stonewall began to trot after him, not really trying to catch him, but simply hoping to keep the game going. It was a simple game, one Milo hadn't played in forever. Once a clone got to be a certain age, there were no more games. Everything became training. It'd been a long time since he _played. _

The game continued for several minutes. When Milo was tagged 'it,' he broke into a true run after his former captain, savoring the burn of his muscles and the salt-wind in his hair. Without the Force to aid his speed, coupled with his tiring morning, Stonewall was not as fast as Milo, but didn't seem to care. Even so, Milo took care not to tackle him _too_ hard.

They rolled over one another, somersaulting so that their impact on the damp ferrocrete platform would be painless. It was. The moment he was free, Milo jumped up and called to Levy as he darted away from the former officer. "Watch out, _vod_! Stonewall's 'it!'"

"Way to ruin my element of surprise," Stonewall replied, but his voice held nothing but amusement.

When Milo felt a hand on his arm, he nearly jumped out of his skin. It was a testament to how kriffed-up this place was that such a thing was an anomaly, and therefore enough to cause alarm. He paused in his efforts to evade capture and glanced over to see Cobble, shifting from foot to foot and not looking at him.

"Cobble?" Milo asked.

"Cobble."

_Uh...okay. _Milo glanced at Stonewall and Levy, who'd come over as well. Both were breathing a little hard from the game of chase, and a faint sheen of sweat covered both their foreheads. "Is everything okay?" Milo asked the newcomer.

Cobble's head ducked once in what Milo thought might be a nod. "Cobble?" he asked.

Milo and Stonewall exchanged helpless glances; maybe if the captain had been able to use the Force, he could have sensed what Cobble wanted, but the collar around Stonewall's neck was active and his brother had probably gotten a healthy fear of the effing thing. With good reason; _he_ was still a bit sore from those sticky-things. Force knew how unpleasant the shocks from the collar were.

After a moment, Milo cleared his throat and indicated the ferrocrete platform. "We're just messing around," he said with a shrug. "D'you want to...join us?"

It was a long-shot, but maybe...

A smile broke across Cobble's face, wide and bright as Coraux's rings. "Cobble!" he said, nodding enthusiastically and slapping a hand over his heart. It took Milo a moment, but he realized that the pattern of Cobble's slaps mimicked a heartbeat.

"Yes, it's good to keep up your heart rate," he said, nodding as well. Weave would approve of this guy. "Come on. Stonewall's 'it.' Except he's usually faster than he looks."

Someone cuffed his ear playfully. "_Now _you're in trouble, Mi."

Milo grinned at his former captain and darted off, urging Levy and Cobble along with him, their feet slapping against the wet ferrocrete. "You've got to catch us first!"

* * *

Stonewall was still tired from the morning's "tests," but it was good to forget the collar around his neck, even for a little while. _Fek_, he needed something to smile about. Watching Milo encourage Levy and the odd fellow, Cobble, to play around filled Stonewall with happiness and a sense of pride.

_He's not a shiny any longer_, he thought fondly as Milo let himself be tackled by the cadet.

It'd been some years since Stonewall had encountered a clone Levy's age. Though small, the kid was strong and agile, as were all young clones. As he watched Mi and Lev tussle, Stonewall was struck with longing. Would his and Kali's child be strong like that? Kali would be an amazing mother, and no doubt his _vode _would step in to help, but it still felt wrong; his child needed a father.

The longing sharpened to an ache, accompanied by a swell of grief and bitterness that Stonewall fought to push away. That kind of thinking would do no good. He had to focus on the _here _and _now _if he was going to keep his sanity here – not to mention his life.

After a few rolls over the ferrocrete, Milo called out a laughing surrender, and Levy jumped to his feet, arms lifted in triumph as he danced around Milo's prone form. Cobble stood by, clapping his hands. The other clones of The Dregs looked on, aghast, and Stonewall was able to take a bit of amusement in that, too.

But all good things in the galaxy had a shelf life, and the game was no exception.

Cobble saw the guards first. The rain had started to fall a little harder again, and he'd been about to tag Stonewall; he froze, one hand outstretched, and his eyes wide as they fell upon someone behind Stonewall's shoulder. Immediately, Stonewall whirled around and was met with the crackling end of Ward's electro-pike, raised to his eye-level.

"Don't– " Ward began.

But Stonewall knew the drill by now. "Try anything funny," he finished, lifting his hands. "I remember."

He stepped forward, willing to comply despite the renewed sinking feeling in his gut, but Halligan, who'd naturally accompanied Ward, indicated Cobble and Levy. "Come on, both of you. Creon says he needs two more subjects."

Cobble's shoulders sank but he nodded once, a blank look on his face as he stepped beside Stonewall. Levy's face paled, and he stood close to Milo, one hand on Mi's arm.

"Come _on_, kid," Halligan said, pulling out a set of cuffs. "You'll only make it worse for yourself if you delay."

Levy cringed and ducked his head into Milo's back. Stonewall glared at the guards, but it was Milo who spoke first. "No, I'll go," he said easily as he stepped free of Levy's grip and held out his wrists. "Lev will stay here."

Halligan shot his companion a look; it was impossible to see his face through his helmet, but his words sounded skeptical. "Think it's okay?"

Ward gave an exaggerated sigh, the sound hissing through the mic in his bucket. "Whatever. Like it makes a fardling difference which defect we drag out."

As his hands were bound, Milo glanced back at Levy, who stood with his arms wrapped tight around his sides. "It's okay, _vod._ It's going to be okay."

Another flare of pride passed over Stonewall, followed closely by regret. _It's not fair_, he thought as he watched as Milo was forced forward._ He deserves better._

His eyes slid to the others, huddled together beneath the renewed rainfall. _They all do. _

* * *

Again, they were brought to the training-room, though not before more of those _shabla _nodes were attached to Milo and Cobble. Neither guard placed any on Stonewall, nor did they bring out that kriffing blind-helmet again, so he wasn't sure what was going on. The few times he tried to speak to Mi, Ward waved his electro-staff between them.

Cobble was shoved into the room first, then Milo, then Stonewall. All three were bound, of course, though once they were inside, Ward slipped away while Halligan deactivated the cuffs at Milo and Stonewall's wrists, and stuck a small transmitter into Stonewall's ear

"What's going on?" Stonewall asked as the guard fiddled with the device.

Halligan's visor dropped, but he did not reply. Ward returned a moment later with – of all things – a standard DC-17 blaster. Three, actually, one of which he handed to Milo. "Don't get any ideas, dreg," he said as Milo accepted the weapon gingerly. "Hal and I will have you all in our scopes, so one wrong move and you're fodder."

"What about him?" Milo asked, nodding to Cobble.

Ward shook his head; his next words were monotone, spoken as if by route. "Scientist Dai will provide further instructions," was all he said before he and Halligan, now fully-armed, moved to the sidelines.

For a moment, the three clones stood in a clump at the center of the room, not sure what to do. Movement out of the corner of his eye made Stonewall look up; Creon had returned to the observation deck, and was entering commands into his datapad. The long-neck's voice filtered through Stonewall's earpiece comlink a beat later.

"Unit CC-3077; in sixty seconds, the Force-suppressing collar will be deactivated. At that time, you are ordered to use the Force to influence the actions of unit CT-6396. The desired result is the execution of unit CT-2118. You are ordered to bring about that result by mentally coercing CT-6396."

Stonewall could not help his surprise, nor the sudden lash of anger in his heart. The fekking long-neck wanted him to use the Force on Milo to get him to shoot Cobble? Stonewall twisted around and glared up at Creon. Milo and Cobble looked at him, startled, but he ignored them in favor of shouting at the Kaminoan.

"I won't kriffing do it, do you hear me?"

The long-neck's reply was maddeningly calm. "Unit CC-3077, you will comply. If you do not, both CT-6396 and CT-2118 will be terminated via electrocution."

"What's going on, _vod_?" Milo asked, eyes large, clutching the blaster to his chest while Cobble had edged toward him.

Stonewall grimaced as Creon repeated his orders – no, his effing _threat – _in his ear. "He wants me to–"

Before he could finish the sentence, Cobble let out a yelp and fell to the floor, body writhing as electricity pummeled through his veins. Milo stepped forward, but before his foot landed cried out as well and doubled over, though he didn't release his weapon; either the shock was less this time, or he'd simply gotten used to it.

It didn't matter. The shock only seemed to last a moment, but both men were left gasping and shaking; Milo hadn't fallen, but poor Cobble was curled in a fetal position, whimpering his name over and over.

As Stonewall bent to help Cobble, the kriffing long-neck spoke in his ear again. "Unit CC-3077, it will be worse for them each time you do not comply. Now, cease resisting and influence CT-6396 to execute CT-2118."

No. No, this was madness. This was a nightmare. He could not do this. He _would_ not. Anger blistered Stonewall's heart and erupted into rage, but when the collar was deactivated his vision washed clean and white. The sudden return of the Force was akin to removing his helmet in the middle of a battle; where once the sounds around him had been muted, now they swept back with jarring clarity. Now the Force flowed through him, unchecked, and for one instant he savored the feeling.

Milo's voice broke him out of his trance. "What's happening, Stonewall? What does he want?"

His _vod's _eyes were huge and filled with fear – and pain. Keeping his body still, Stonewall took a deep breath, and as he did, he shut his eyes and gathered the Force to him, pulled it close and tight and wore it like armor. Without the collar, it was a simple action, and he allowed himself one second to relish the renewed sensation of immersing himself in the Force. Kriff, he'd missed it. Who would have ever thought he'd miss it?

It only took an instant for him to assess the room through the currents of Force-energy. Milo and Cobble's fear and confusion – both were palpable, and expected. Stonewall acknowledged them and moved to Ward and Halligan; these men were scared, too, and – to his surprise – disgusted with the long-neck. But like the other, "defective" clones of The Dregs, they had long since grown accustomed to their fear, carrying it with them as acceptance of their lot.

Last to receive an inquiring flare of Force-energy was Creon Dai, out of reach, but not out of Stonewall's grasp. He only had a matter of seconds, though, for once the long-neck realized he was in danger, the collar would likely come back on.

Another deep breath, and he turned his attention back to Milo, reaching to his brother through the bonds of kinship, trust, and loyalty that connected them.

It was similar to what he'd done with Kali in the past. Long before Stonewall had full use of the Force, she'd reached out to him in this way, and they'd been able to communicate without vocalizing their words. He'd often wondered if he'd gotten the Force because he was somehow predisposed to it. If so, perhaps all clones were. Perhaps Milo was.

_Milo. _It wasn't speech, wasn't quite a thought. It was a nudge against Mi's bright spirit, which appeared to Stonewall as glittering threads of energy in his mind's eye. _Vod_. _Brother. Can you hear me?_

Milo sucked in his breath, eyes larger than ever, and looked at Stonewall with open-mouthed shock. The emotion echoed within the younger clone's Force-presence, but he did not recoil from what Stonewall knew was a strange feeling, so he sent Milo a flare of comforting, calming energy.

_I can't explain now, _he sent through their bond, _but you must do exactly as I say. Blink twice if you can understand. _

The younger clone swallowed thickly, but gave two, steady blinks.

Pleased and proud, Stonewall continued. _When I give the signal, shoot Creon's console. If you copy that, blink twice._

Another two blinks, coupled with Milo's hands tightening on the weapon he held. Without fully severing their connection, Stonewall brought his focus back to Creon and the task at hand. Cobble still lay at Milo's feet; it'd only been seconds since Creon's last orders and Stonewall knew his window of opportunity was about to close. The time was now.

He exchanged glances with his younger brother again; Milo's face held only raw determination, as if he'd pushed past his confusion in order to see to the task at hand. The tight line of his mouth showed that he understood this might be their last battle together.

Best make it a good one.

Again, Stonewall gathered the Force to him, this time making sure to visibly move his body, with the intention of showing Creon he was being a good, compliant little clone. As he'd seen Kali and Obi-Wan do, he let his vision go slack, held out his hand, and waved it at Milo as if coercing the other man through a mind-trick.

However, through the link he'd established between them, he said, _Now_!

Milo was the best shot in the galaxy, or at least, he was in this moment. Without taking more than half a second to aim, Milo raised the deece and fired toward Creon's console. At the same time, Stonewall released the Force-energy he'd gathered and pushed it directly toward the _shabla _long-neck who saw fit to torture innocent men.

An impressive shower of sparks erupted from the console even as the long-neck was tossed into the wall behind him with enough force to hopefully break his karking bones. Darkness fell around the clones as the training-room's lights failed, but Stonewall didn't need their illumination any longer. He gathered the Force once more and leaped toward Creon, intent on snapping the aiwha-bait's neck if nothing else, because this was ending and it was ending _now..._

Pain erupted through the Force, shocking him with its intensity. Stonewall landed lightly on the observation deck and glanced behind him, where two bright flares of energy had blossomed in the darkness. The Force cried out with Milo and Cobble's pain as electricity swam through their bodies.

"_Fek!_" Stonewall turned back to Creon and his effing datapad, which must have had all the controls routed through its fragging circuits.

There was no peace in Stonewall. There was only scorching fury, tempered though it was with only the barest sense of control. Creon's pale face was illuminated by the 'pad's glow, so Stonewall sent a wave of energy toward the Kaminoan again, hoping to at least make him topple over the deck's edge. He succeeded in snatching the 'pad out of Creon's grip, tossing it to the side, and he stalked forward.

Gray eyes watched him but there was no fear within them, only cold calculation as his elongated arm scrabbled for the 'pad, which had not fallen far. Milo and Cobble's cries echoed within Stonewall's mind and his fury boiled over. He had to end this. The Force sang around him, eager and waiting. He lunged for the delicate neck.

But his connection to the Force was severed and pain coursed through his body, sharp and sudden enough to send him reeling. Stonewall couldn't even find the voice to swear as he collapsed to the deck, his vision now splashed with red and blood and _hurt. _Electricity tore at his fury, froze it to splinters. So shattered, his eyes rolled back in his head, and the darkness took him again.

* * *

Several minutes after the ill-planned attack, Creon watched the guards load CC-3077's body onto an anti-grav stretcher, to return the unit to its cell along with the other two. All three clones were unconscious, though he could have very easily continued the electric currents until they'd died. Perhaps he should have. But both CT units could still be of use, as Tipoca City did not send him defective clones as often as he'd like. There were always more subjects available; acquiring them was another matter.

The CC unit, of course, had a different future.

It was clear now that reconditioning was the only option. Creon surveyed the smoking ruins of his console, thankful he'd had the foresight to control this experiment from the safety of his datapad, which he'd linked to a remote server, just in case there was an " incident" of this nature. All of the data he'd collected would be safe, none of his research lost. The nodes attached to the CT clones' bodies had also been linked to his console, programmed to send a fierce shock through the clones should the console be damaged. Equipment could be repaired or replaced. It was so with most things in his world.

CC-3077 was lifted and carried away, and Creon hurried back to his lab, anxious as ever to return to his work.

* * *

A/N: The Kamino chapters were _really_ hard to write. Despite appearances, I don't like torturing my characters! :/ But certain aspects of this story called for brutality, and I had to oblige.

But a fun chapter is on the horizon. :) Next time we go back to Corrie, and get a new (ish) POV, though I hope y'all aren't getting whiplash with all this hopping between planets...

Thank you for reading!


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